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http://www.archive.org/details/hoosiermosaicsOOthomrich 


•oosier  Mosaics 


By    MAURICE    THOMPSON. 


NEW  YORK: 
E.   J.    HALE   &    SON,    PUBLISHERS, 
Murray  Street. 
1875. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

E.  J.  HALE  &  SON, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


PS  3037 
IBIS 


The  Reverend  GRIGG  THOMPSON. 


MG2'J2D5 


CONTENTS 


*AGE. 
^TaS  ^HE    A    J30Y  ? 1 

Jrout's  J-uck, 29 

J3ig  /V1ed:cine,       ......     50 

JHE    yENUS    OF    J3ALHINCH,  .  .  .  1Q 

Jhe  J^egend  of  J^otato  Preek,  .         .     92 

^Stealing  a  Ponductor,  .         .         .         .114 

J4oiden 127 

Jhe  Pedagogue,       .....        1G2 
^n  Jdyl  of  the  JlOD,  .         •         .  .  188 


|as  >b  a  Joy? 


No  matter  what  business  or  what  pleasure 
took  me,  I  once,  not  long  ago,  went  to  Colfax. 
Whisper  it  not  to  each  other  that  I  was  seek- 
ing a  foreign  appointment  through  the  influ- 
ence of  my  fellow  Hoosier,  the  late  Vice-Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States.  O  no,  I  didn't  go 
to  the  Hon.  Schuyler  Colfax  at  all  j  but  I  went 
to  Colfax,  simply,  which  is  a  little  dingy  town, 
in  Ciiuton  Count}*,  that  was  formerly  called 
Midway,  because  it  is  half  way  between  Lafay- 
ette aud  Indianapolis.  It  was  and  is  a  place 
of  some  three  hundred  inhabitants,  eking  out 
an  aguish  subsistence,  maintaining  a  swampy, 
malarious  aspect,  keeping  up  a  bilious,  nay, 
an  atra -bilious  color,  the  year  round,  by  suck- 
ing like  an  attenuated  leech  at  the  junction, 
or,  rather,  the  crossing  of  the  I.  C.  &  L.,  and 
the  L.  C.  &  S.  W.  railroads.  It  lay  moulder- 
ing, like  something  lost  and  forgotten,  slowly 
rotting  in  the  swamp. 

I  do  not  mean  to  attack  the  inhabitants  of 


8  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

Colfax,  for  they  were  good  people,  and  deserved 
a  better  fate  than  the  eternal  rattling  the  ague 
took  them  through  from  year's  end  to  year's 
end.  Why,  they  had  had  the  agae  so  long 
that  they  had  no  respect  for  it  at  all.  Fve 
seen  a  woman  in  Colfax  shaking  with  a  chill, 
spanking  a  baby  that  had  a  chill,  and  scolding 
a  husband  who  had  a  chill,  all  at  once — and 
I  had  a  dreadful  ague  on  me  at  the  same  time! 
But,  as  I  have  said,  they  were  good  people,  and 
I  suppose  they  are  still.  They  go  quietly  about 
the  usual  business  of  dead  towns,  They  have 
"stores"  in  which  they  offer  for  sale  calico,  of 
the  big-figured,  orange  and  red  sort,  surpris- 
ingly cheap.  They  smoke  those  little  Cuba 
sixes  at  a  half  cent  apiece,  and  call  them 
cigars;  they  hang  round  the  d£p6t,  and  trade 
jack-knives  and  lottery  watches  on  the  after- 
noons of  lazy  Sundays;  they  make  harmless 
sport  of  the  incoming  and  outgoing  country 
folk ;  and,  in  a  word,  keep  pretty  busy  at  one 
thing  or  another,  and  above  all — they  shake. 

In  Colfax  the  chief  sources  of  exciting 
amusement  are  dog  fights  and  an  occasional 
row  at  Sheehan's  saloon,  a  doggery  of  the 
regular  old-fashioned,  drink,  gamble,  rob  and 
fight  sort — a  low  place,  known  to  all  the  hard 
bats  in  the  State. 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY?  9 

As  you  pass  through  the  town  you  will  not 
fail  to  notice  a  big  sign,  outhanging  from  the 
front  of  the  largest  building  on  the  principal 
street,  which  reads:  u Union  Hotel,  1865." 
From  the  muddy  suburbs  of  the  place,  in 
every  direction,  stretch  black  muck  swamps, 
for  the  most  part  heavily  timbered  with  a 
variety  of  oaks,  interspersed  vith  sycamores, 
ash,  and  elms.  In  the  damp,  shady  laby- 
rinths of  these  boggy  woods  millions  of 
lively,  wide  awake,  tuneful  mosquitoes  are 
daily  manufactured  ;  and  out  from  decaying 
logs  and  piles  of  fermenting  leaves,  from  the 
green  pools  and  sluggish  ditch  streams,  creeps- 
a  noxious  gas,  known  in  that  region  as  the 
"double  refined,  high  pressure,  forty  boss 
power  quintessential  of  the  ager!"  So,  at 
least,  I  was  told  by  the  landlord  of  the  Union 
Hotel,  and  his  skin  had  the  color  of  one  who 
knew. 

Notwithstanding  what  I  have  said,  Colfax,, 
in  summer,  is  not  wholly  without  attractions 
of  a  certain  kind.  It  has  some  yellow  dogs 
and  some  brindle  ones ;  it  has  some  cattle  and 
some  swine ;  it  has  some  swallows  aud  some 
spotted  pigeons;  it  has  cool,  fresh  smelling 
winds,  and,  after  the  water  has  sufficiently 
dried  out,  the  woods  are  really  glorious  with. 


10  A  BOOK  OF   IIOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

wild  roses,  violets,  turkey-pea  blossoms,  and 
wild  pinks.    But  to  my  story. 

I  was  sitting  on  the  long  veranda  of  the 
Union  Hotel,  when  a  rough  but  kindly  voice 
said  to  me : 

"  Mornin',  stranger ;  gi'  me  a  light,  will  ye  f 
I  looked  up  from  the  miserable  dime  novel 
at  which.  I  had  been  tugging  for  the  last  hour, 
and  saw  before  me  a  corpulent  man  of,  per- 
haps, forty-five  years  of  age,  who  stood  quite 
ready  to  thrust  the  charred  end  of  a  cigar 
stump  into  the  bowl  of  my  meerschaum.  I 
gave  him  a  match,  and  would  fain  have  re- 
turned to  Angelina  St.  Fortescue,  the  heroine 
of  the  novel,  whom  I  had  left  standing  on  the 
extreme  giddy  verge  of  a  sheer  Alpine  preci- 
pice, known,  by  actual  triangulation,  to  be  just 
seven  thousand  feet  high,  swearing  she  would 
leap  off  if  Donald  Gougerizeout,  the  robber, 
persisted  further  in  his  rough  addresses ;  but 
my  new  friend,  the  corpulent  smoker,  seemed 
bent  on  a  little  bit  of  conversation. 

a  Thankee,  sir.  Fine  mornin',  sir,  a'n't  it  F 
"Beautiful,"  I  replied,  raising  my  head, 
elevating  my  arms,  and,  by  a  kind  of  yawn, 
taking  in  a  deep  draught  of  the  fresh  spring 
weather,  absorbing  it,  assimilating  it,  till,  like 
a  wave  of  retarded  electricity,  it  set  my  nerves 


WAS  SHE  A  BOYf  11 

in  time  for  enjoying  the  bird  songs,  and  filled 
my  blood  with  the  ecstasy  of  vigorous  health 
and  youth.  I,  no  doubt,  just  then  felt  the 
burden  of  life  much  less  than  did  the  big  yel- 
low dog  at  my  feet,  who  snapped  lazily  at  the 
flies. 

"Yes,  yes,  this  'ere's  a  fine  morniu'— juli- 
cious,  sir,  julicious,  indeed ;  but  le'  me  tell  ye, 
sir,  this  'ere  wind's  mighty  deceitful — for  a  fact 
it  is,  sir,  jist  as  full  of  ager  as  a  acorn  is  of 
meat.  It's  blowin'  right  off'n  ponds,  and  is 
loaded  chock  down  with  the  miasm — for  a  fact 
it  is,  sir." 

While  delivering  this  speech,  the  fat  man 
sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  me  there  in  the 
veranda.  By  this  time  I  had  my  thumbs  in 
the  arm  holes  of  my  vest,  and  my  chest  ex- 
panded to  its  utmost— my  lungs  going  like  a 
steam  bellows,  which  is  a  way  I  have  in  fine 
weather. 

"  Monstrous  set  o'  respiratory  organs,  them 
o'  your'n,"  he  said,  eyeing  my  manoeuvres. 
Just  then  I  discovered  that  he  was  a  physi- 
cian of  the  steam  doctor  sort,  for,  glancing 
down  at  my  feet,  I  espied  his  well  worn  leather 
medicine  bags.  I  immediately  grew  polite. 
Possibly  I  might  ere  long  need  some  quinine, 
or  mandrake,  or  a  hot'  steam  bath — anything 
for  the  ague ! 


12  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

u  Yes,  I've  got  lungs  like  a  porpoise,"  I  re- 
plied, a  but  still  the  ague  may  get  me.    Much 

sickness    about    here,   Doctor a a 

what  do  they  call  your  name  f" 

u  Benjamin  Hurd — Doctor  Hurd,  they  call 
me.  I'm  the  only  thorer  bred  botanic  that's  in 
these  parts.  I  do  poorty  much  all  the  prac 
tice  about  here.  Yes,  there's  considerable  of 
ager  and  phthisic  and  bilious  fever.  Keeps 
me  busy  most  of  my  time.  These  nasty 
swamps,  you  know." 

After  a  time  our  conversation  nagged,  and 
the  doctor  having  lit  a  fresh  cigar,  we  smoked 
in  silence.  The  wind  was  driving  the  dust 
along  the  street  in  heavy  waves,  and  I  sat 
watching  a  couple  of  lean,  spotted  calves 
making  their  way  against  the  tide.  They  held 
their  heads  low  and  shut  their  eyes,  now  and 
then  bawling  vigorously.  Some  one  up  stairs 
was  playing  "  Days  of  Absence"  on  a  wretched 
wheezing  accordeon. 

"  There's  a  case  of  asthma,  doctor,"  I  said, 
intending  to  be  witty.  But  my  remark  was 
not  noticed.  The  doctor  was  in  a  brown  study, 
from  which  my  words  had  not  startled  him. 
Presently  he  said,  as  if  talking  to  himself,  and 
without  taking  the  cigar  from  his  mouth  : 

"'Twas  just  a  year  ago  to-night,  the  28th 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY?  13 

day  of  May,  'at  they  took  'er  away.  And  he'll 
die  afore  day  to  a  dead  certainty.  Beats  all 
the  denied  queer  things  I  ever  seed  or  heerd 
of." 

He  was  poking  with  the  toe  of  his  boot  in 
the  dust  on  the  veranda  floor,  as  he  spoke, 
and  stealing  a  glance  at  his  face,  I  saw  that  it 
wore  an  abstracted,  dreamy,  perplexed  look. 

M  What  was  your  remark,  doctor  F  I  asked, 
more  to  arouse  him  than  from  any  hope  of  be- 
ing interested. 

"  Hum ! — ah,  yes,"  he  said,  starting,  and  be- 
ginning a  vigorous  puffing.  u  Ah,  yes,  I  was 
cogitatin'  over  this  matter  o'  Berry  Young's. 
Never  have  been  able  to  'count  for  that,  no 
how.  Think  about  it  more  an'  more  every 
day.    What's  your  theory  of  it  f 

"  Can't  say,  never  having  heard  anything  of 
it,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  do  say !  Thought  everybody  had 
hearn  of  that,  any  how !  It's  a  rale  romance, 
a  reg'lar  mystery,  sir.  It's  been  talked  about, 
and  writ  about  in  the  papers  so  much  'at  I 
s'posed  'at  it  was  knowed  of  far  and  wide." 

"  I've  been  in  California  for  several  years 
past,"  I  replied,  by  way  of  excuse  for  my  igno- 
rance of  even  the  vaguest  outline  of  the  affair, 

whatever  it  might  be. 

2 


14  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"  Well,  you  see,  a  leetle  more'n  a  year  ago 
a  gal  an'  her  lather  come  here  and  stopped  at 
this  'ere  very  hotel.  The  man  must  'a'  been 
som'res  near  sixty  years  old ;  but  the  gal  was 
young,  and  jist  the  poortiest  thing  I  ever  seed 
in  all  my  life.  I  couldn't  describe  how  she 
looked  at  all ;  but  everybody  'at  saw  her  said 
she  was  the  beautifulest  creatur  they  ever  laid 
eyes  onto.  Where  these  two  folks  come  from 
nobody  ever  knowed,  but  they  seemed  like 
mighty  nice  sort  of  persons,  and  everybody 
liked  'em,  'specially  the  gal.  Somehow,  from 
the  very  start,  a  kind  of  mystery  hung  'round 
'em.  They  seemed  always  to  have  gobs  o' 
money,  and  onct  in  awhile  some  little  thing  'd 
turn  up  to  make  folks  kinder  juberous  some- 
how 'at  they  wasn't  jist  what  they  ginerally 
seemed  to  be.  But  that  gal  was  fascinatin'  as 
a  snake,  and  as  poorty  as  any  picter.  Her 
flesh  looked  like  tinted  wax  mixed  with  moon- 
shine, and  her  eyes  was  as  clear  as  a  lime- 
stone spring  —  though  they  was  dark  as 
night.  She  was  that  full  of  restless  animal 
life  'at  she  couldn't  set  still — she  roamed  round 
like  a  leopard  in  a  cage,  and  she'd  romp  equal 
to  a  ten-year-old  boy.  Well,  as  mought  be  ex- 
pected, sich  a  gal  as  that  'ere  'd  'tract  attention 
in  these  parts,  and  I  must  say  'at  the  young 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY?  15 

follows  hero  did  git  'boiniuable  sweet  on  her. 
'Casionally  two  of  'em  'd  git  out  in  the  swamps 
and  have  a  awful  fight  on  her  'count;  but  she 
'peared  to  pay  precious  little  'tention  to  any  of 
'em  till  finally  Berry  Young  stepped  in  and 
jist  went  for  'er  like  mad,  and  she  tools  to  'm. 
Berry  was  r'ally  the  nicest  and  intelligentest 
young  man  in  all  this  country.  He  writ  poe- 
try for  the  papers,  sir— snatchin'  good  poetry, 
too- and  had  got  to  be  talked  of  aright  smart 
for  his  laruin',  an7  'compiishments.  He  was 
good  lookiu',  too ;  powerful  handsome,  for  a 
fact,  sir.  So  tbey  was'  to  be  married,  Berry 
and  the  gal,  an'  the  time  it  was  sot,  an'  the 
day  it  come,  an'  all  was  ready,  an'  the  young 
folks  was  on  the  floor,  and  the  'squire  was  jist 
a  commencin'  to  say  tiia  ceremony,  when  lo ! 
and  beholden,  four  big,  awful,  rough  lookin' 
men  rushed  in  with  big  pistols  and  mighty  ter- 
rible bowie  knives,  and  big  papers  and  big 
seals,  and  said  they  was  a  sheriff  and  possum 
from  Kaintucky.  They  jist  jumped  right  onto 
the  gal  an'  her  father  an'  han'cuffed  'em,  an' 
took  'em !" 

"  Handcuffed  them  and  took  them !"  I  re- 
peated, suddenly  growing  intensely  interested. 
This  was  beating  my  dime  novel,  for  sensation, 
all  hollow. 


16  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"Yes,  sir,  han'cuffed  'em  an'  took  'em,  an' 
away  they  went,  an'  they've  not  been  hearn  of 
since  to  this  day.  But  the  mysteriousest  thing 
about  the  whole  business  was  that  when  the 
sheriff  grabbed  the  gal  he  called  her  George, 
and  said  she  wasn't  no  gal  at  all,  but  jist  a 
terrible  onery  boy  'at  had  been  stealin'  an' 
counterfeitin'  an'  robbin'  all  round  everywhere. 
What  d'ye  think  of  that P 

"  A  remarkably  strange  affair,  certainly,"  I 
replied ;  "  and  do  you  say  that  the  father  and 
the  girl  have  not  since  been  heard  from  P 

"Never  a  breath.  The  thing  got  into  all 
the  newspapers  and  raised  a  awful  rumpus, 
and  it  turned  out  that  it  wasn't  no  sheriff  'at 
come  there;  but  some  dark,  mysterious  kid- 
nappin'  transaction  'at  nobody  could  account 
for.  Detectives  was  put  on  their  track  an' 
follered  'em  to  Injun  territory  an'  there  lost 
'em.  Some  big  robberies  was  connected  with 
the  affair,  but  folks  could  never  git  head  nor 
tail  of  the  partic'lers." 

"  And  it  wasn't  a  real  sheriff's  arrest,  then  P 
said  I. 

"  No,  sir,  'twas  jist  a  mystery.  Some  kind 
of  a  dodge  of  a  band  of  desperadoes  to  avoid 
the  law  some  way.  The  papers  tried  to  explain 
it,  but  I  never  could  see  any  sense  to  it.    'Twas 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY  !  17 

a  clean,  dead  mystery.  But  I  was  goiu'  on  to 
tell  ye  'at  Berry  Young  took  it  awful  hard 
'bout  the  gal,  an'  he's  been  sort  o'  sinkin'  away 
ever  sence,  an'  now  he's  jist  ready  to  wink  out. 
Yonder's  where  Berry  lives,  in  that  'ere  white 
cottage  house  with  the  vines  round  the  winder. 
He's  desp'rit  sick— a  sort  o'  consumption.  I'm 
goin'  to  see  'im  now ;  good  mornin'  to  ye." 

Thus  abruptly  ending  our  interview,  the 
doctor  took  up  his  medicine  bag  and  went  his 
way.  He  left  me  in  a  really  excited  state  of 
mind;  the  story  of  itself  was  so  strange,  and 
the  narrator  had  told  it  so  solemnly  and 
graphically.  I  suppose,  too,  that  I  must  have 
been  in  just  the  proper  state  of  mind  for  that 
rough  outline,  that  cartoon  of  a  most  startling 
and  mysterious  affair,  to  become  deeply  im- 
pressed in  my  mind,  perhaps,  in  the  most 
fascinating  and  fantastic  light  possible.  A 
thirst  to  know  more  of  the  story  took  strong 
hold  on  my  mind,  as  if  I  had  been  reading  a 
tantalizing  romance  and  had  found  the  leaves 
torn  out  just  where  the  mystery  was  to  be  ex- 
plained. I  half  closed  my  eyes  to  better  keep 
in  the  lines  and  shades  of  the  strange  picture. 
Its  iuflucnce  lay  upon  me  like  a  spell.  I  en- 
joyed it.    It  was  a  luxury. 

The  wings  of  tli3  morning  wind  fanned  the 
2* 


18  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

heat  into  broken  waves,  rising  and  sinking,  and 
flowing  on,  with  murmur  and  flash  and  glim- 
mer, to  the  cool  green  ways  of  the  woods,  and, 
like  the  wind,  my  fancy  went  out  among  golden 
fleece  clouds  and  into  shady  places,  following 
the  thread  of  this  new  romance.  I  cannot  give 
a  sufficient  reason  why  the  story  took  so  fast 
a  hold  on  me.  But  it  did  grip  my  mind  and 
master  it.  It  appeared  to  me  the  most  in- 
tensely strange  affair  I  had  ever  heard  of. 

While  I  sat  there,  lost  in  reflection,  with  my 
eyes  bent  on  a  very  unpromising  pig,  that 
wallowed  in  the  damp  earth  by  the  town 
puuip,  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  came  out  and 
took  a  seat  beside  me.  I  gave  him  a  pipe  of 
my  tobacco  and  forthwith  began  plying  him 
with  questions  touching  the  affair  of  which  the 
doctor  had  spoken.  He  confirmed  the  story, 
and  added  to  its  mystery  by  going  minutely 
into  its  details.  He  gave  the  names  of  the 
father  and  daughter  as  Charles  Afton  and 
Oilie  Afton. 

Ollie  Afton!  Certainly  no  name  sounds 
sweeter!  How  is  it  that  these  gifted,  mys- 
teriously beautiful  persons  always  have  musical 
names ! 

"  Ah,"  said  the  landlord,  "  you'd  ort  to  have 
seen  that  boy  V9 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY?  19 

"  Boy !"  I  echoed. 

"Well,  gal  or  boy,  one  or  t'other,  the 
wonderi'ulest  human  bein' 1  ever  see  in  all  the 
days  o'  my  life !  Lips  as  red  as  ripe  cur'n's, 
and  for  ever  smilin'.  Such  smiles — oonkoo! 
they  hurt  a  feller  all  over,  they  was  so  sweet. 
She  was  tall  an'  dark,  an'  had  black  hair  that 
curled  short  all  'round,  her  head.  Her  skin 
was  wonderful  clear  and  so  was  her  eyes.  But 
it  was  the  way  she  looked  at  you  that  got  you. 
Ah,  sir,  she  had  a  power  in  them  eyes,  to  be 


sure  i 


IV 


The  pig  got  up  from  his  muddy  place  by  the 
pump,  grunted,  as  if  satisfied,  and  slowly 
strolled  off;  a  country  lad  drove  past,  riding 
astride  the  hounds  of  a  wagon ;  a  pigeon  lit 
on  the  comb  of  the  roof  of  Sheehan's  saloon, 
which  was  just  across  the  street,  and  began 
pluming  itself.  Just  then  the  landlord's  little 
sharp-nosed,  w^easel-eyed  boy  came  out  and 
said,  in  a  very  subdued  tone  of  voice: 

"Pap,  mam  says  'at  if  you  don't  kill  'er 
that  'ere  chicken  for  dinner  you  kin  go  widout 
any  fing  to  eat  all  she  cares." 

The  landlord's  spouse  was  a  red-headed 
wroman,  so  he  got  up  very  suddenly  and  took 
himself  into  the  house.  But  before  he  got  out 
of  hearing  the  little  boy  remarked : 


20  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

u  Pap,  I  speaks  for  the  gizzard  of  that  "ere 
chicken,  d'ye  hear,  now?" 

I  sat  there  till  the  dinner  hour,  watching  the 
soft  pink  and  white  vapors  that  rolled  round 
the  verge  of  the  horizon.  I  was  thoroughly 
saturated  with  romance.  Strange,  that  here, 
in  this  dingy  little  out- of -the- way  village,  should 
have  transpired  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
mysteries  history  may  ever  hold ! 

At  dinner  the  landlord  talked  volubly  of  the 
Afton  affair,  giving  it  as  his  opinion  that  the 
Aftons  were  persons  tinged  with  negro  blood, 
and  had  been  kidnapped  into  slavery. 

"  They  was  jist  as  white,  an'  whiter,  too, 
than  I  am,"  he  went  on,  "  but  them  Southern- 
ers 'd  jist  as  soon  sell  one  person  as  'nother, 
anyhow." 

I  noticed  particularly  that  the  little  boy  got 
his  choice  bit  of  the  fowl.  He  turned  his  head 
one  side  and  ate  like  a  cat. 

When  the  meal  was  over  I  was  again  joined 
by  Doctor  Hurd  on  the  verandah.  He  reported 
Berry  Young  still  alive,  but  not  able  to  live 
till  midnight.  I  noticed  that  the  doctor  was 
nervous  and  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Sheehan's 
saloon. 

"Stranger,"  said  he,  leaning  over  close  to 
me,   and  speaking  in  a  low,   guarded  way, 


WAS  SHE  A  BOYf  21 

"things  is  workin'  (lasted  curious  'bout  now — 
sure's  gun's  iron  they  jist  is!" 

"Where — how — in  what  way,  doctor V9  I 
stammered,  taken  aback  by  his  behavior. 

u  Sumpum's  up,  as  sure  as  Ned P  he  replied, 
wagging  his  head. 

"Doctor,"  I  said,  petulantly,  "if  you  would 
be  a  trifle  more  explicit  I  could  probably  guess, 
with  some  show  of  certainty,  at  what  you 
mean  P 

"Can't  ye  hear?  Are  ye  deaf?  Did  ye 
ever,  in  all  yer  born  days,  hear  a  voice  like 
that  ere  'un  ?    Listen  P 

Sure  enough,  a  voice  of  thrilling  power,  a 
rich,  heavy,  quavering  alto,  accompanied  by 
some  one  thrumming  on  a  guitar,  trickled  and 
gurgled,  and  poured  through  the  open  window 
of  Sheehan's  saloon.  The  song  was  a  wild, 
drinking  carol,  full  of  rough,  reckless  wit,  but 
I  listened,  entranced,  till  it  was  done. 

"  There  now,  say,  what  d'ye  think  o'  that ! 
Ain't  things  a  workin'  round  awful  curious, 
as  I  said  F 

Delivering  himself  thus,  the  doctor  got  up 
and  walked  off. 

When  I  again  had  an  opportunity  to  speak 
to  the  landlord,  I  asked  him  if  Doctor  Hurd 
was  not  thought  to  be  slightly  demented. 


22  A  BOOK   OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"What!  crazy,  do  you  mean?  No,  sir; 
bright  as  a  pin  !" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "he's  a  very  queer  fellow 
any  how.  By  the  way,  who  was  that  singing 
just  now  over  in  the  saloon  there?" 

u  Don't  know,  didn't  hear  'era.  Some  of  the 
hoys,  I  s'pose.  They  have  some  lively  swells 
over  there  sometimes.    Awful  hole." 

I  resumed  my  dime  novel,  aud  nothing  further 
transpired  to  aggravate  or  satisfy  my  curiosity 
concerning  the  strange  story  I  had  heard,  till 
night  came  down  and  the  bats  began  to  wheel 
through  the  moonless  blackness  above  the 
dingy  town.  At  the  coming  on  of  dusk  I 
flung  away  the  book  and  took  to  my  pipe. 
Some  one  touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  rousing 
me  from  a  deep  reverie,  if  not  a  doze. 

"  Ha,  stranger,  this  you,  eh  ?  Berry  Young's 
a  dyin' ;  go  over  there  wi'  me,  will  ye?" 

It  was  the  voice  of  Doctor  Hurd. 

"What  need  for  me  have  you?"  I  replied, 
rather  stiffly,  not  much  relishing  this  too  ob- 
trusive familiarity. 

u  Weil— -i_i  jist  kinder  wanted  ye  to  go 
over.  The  poor  boy's  'bout  passin'  away,  an' 
things  is  a  workin'  so  tarnation  curious !  Come 
'long  wi'  me,  friend,  will  ye  ?" 

Something  in  the  fellow's  voice  touched  me, 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY?  23 

ami  without  another  word  I  arose  and  followed 
him  to  the  cottage.  The  night  was  intensely 
black.  I  think  it  was  clear,  but  a  heavy  fog 
from  the  swamps  had  settled  over  everything, 
and  through  this  dismal  veil  the  voices  of 
owls  from  far  and  near  struck  with  hollow, 
sepulchral  effect. 

"  A  heart  is  the  trump  I"  sang  out  that  alto 
voice  from  within  the  saloon  as  we  passed. 

Doctor  Hurd  clutched  my  arm  and  mut- 
tered : 

u  That's  that  voice  ag^n !  Strange — strange ! 
Poor  Berry  Young !" 

We  entered  the  cottage  and  found  ourselves 
in  a  cosy  little  room,  where,  on  a  low  bed,  a 
pale,  intelligent  looking  youug  man  lay,  evi- 
dently dyiug.  He  was  very  much  emaciated, 
his  eyes,  wonderfully  large  and  luminous,  were 
sunken,  and  his  breathing  quick  and  difficult. 
A  haggard,  watching-worn  woman  sat  by  his 
bed.  From  her  resemblance  to  him  I  took  her 
to  be  his  sister.  She  was  evidently  very  un- 
well herself.  We  sat  in  silence  by  his  bedside, 
watching  his  life  flow  into  eternity,  till  the 
little  clock  on  the  mantel  struck,  sharp  and 
clear,  the  hour  of  ten. 

The  sound  of  the  bell  startled  the  sick  man, 
and  after  some  incoherent  mumbling  he  said, 
quite  distinctly : 


24  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

u  Sister,  if  you  ever  again  see  Ollie  Afton, 
tell  hiin — tell  her— tell,  say  I  forgive  him — 
say  to  her — him — I  loved  her  all  my  life — tell 
him — ah !  what  was  I  saying  f  Don't  cry,  sis, 
please.  What  a  sweet,  faithful  sister !  Ah ! 
it's  almost  over,  dear Ah,  me !" 

For  some  minutes  the  sister's  sobbing  echoed 
strangely  through  the  house.  The  dying  man 
drew  his  head  far  down  in  the  soft  pillow.  A 
breath  of  damp  air  stole  through  the  room. 

All  at  once,  right  under  the  window  by 
which  the  bed  sat,  arose  a  touching  guitar  pre- 
lude— a  tangled  mesh  of  melody — gusty,  throb- 
bing, wandering  through  the  room  and  stray- 
ing off  into  the  night,  tossing  back  its  trembling 
echoes  fainter  and  fainter,  till,  as  it  began  to 
die,  that  same  splendid  alto  voice  caught  the 
key  and  flooded  the  darkness  with  song.  The 
sick  man  raised  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  his 
face  flashed  out  the  terrible  smile  of  death. 
He  listened  eagerly.  It  was  the  song  "  Come 
Where  my  Love  lies  Dreaming,"  but  who  has 
heard  it  rendered  as  it  was  that  night  1  Every 
chord  of  the  voice  was  as  sweet  and  witching 
as  a  wind  harp's,  and  the  low,  humming  under- 
tone of  the  accompaniment  was  perfection. 
Tenderly  but  awfully  sweet,  the  music  at 
length  faded  into  utter  silence,  and  Berry 
Young  sank  limp  and  pallid  upon  his  pillows. 


WAS  SHE  A  boy!  25 

"  It  is  Ollie,"  be  hoarsely  whispered.  "  Tell 
her — tell  him — O  say  to  her  for  me — ah !  water, 
sis,  it's  all  over  P 

The  woman  hastened,  but  before  she  could 
get  the  water  to  his  lips  he  was  dead.  His 
last  word  was  Ollie. 

The  sister  cast  herself  upon  the  dead  man's 
bosom  and  sobbed  wildly,  piteously.  Soon 
after  this  some  neighbors  came  in,  which  gave 
me  an  opportunity  to  quietly  take  my  leave. 

The  night  was  so  foggy  and  dark  that,  but 
for  a  bright  stream  of  light  from  a  window  of 
Sheehan's  saloon,  it  would  have  been  hard  for 
me  to  find  my  way  back  to  the  hotel.  I  did 
find  it,  however,  and  sat  down  upon  the  ve- 
randah. I  had  nearly  fallen  asleep,  thinking 
over  the  strange  occurrences  of  the  past  few 
hours,  when  the  rumble  of  an  approaching 
train  of  cars  on  the  I.  C.  &  L.  from  the  east 
aroused  me,  and,  at  the  same  moment,  a  great 
noise  began  over  in  the  saloon.  High  words, 
a  few  bitter  oaths,  a  struggle  as  of  persons 
fighting,  a  loud,  sonorous  crash  like  the  crush- 
ing of  a  musical  instrument,  and  then  I  saw 
the  burly  bar  tender  hurl  some  one  out  through 
the  doorway  just  as  the  express  train  stopped 
close  by. 

"  All  aboard !"  cried  the  conductor,  waving 
3 


26  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

his  lantern.  At  the  same  time,  as  the  bar- 
tender stood  in  the  light  of  his  doorway,  a 
brickbat,  whizzing  from  the  darkness,  struck 
him  full  in  the  face,  knocking  him  precipitately 
back  at  full  length  on  to  the  floor  of  the  saloon. 

"  All  aboard P  repeated  the  conductor. 

"All  aboard  P  jeeringly  echoed  a  delicious 
alto  voice  ;  and  I  saw  a  slender  man  step  up 
on  the  rear  platform  of  the  smoking  car.  A 
flash  from  the  conductor's  lantern  lit  up  for  a 
moment  this  fellow's  face,  and  it  was  the  most 
beautiful  visage  I  have  ever  seen.  Extremely 
youthful,  dark,  resplendent,  glorious,  set  round 
with  waves  and  ringlets  of  black  hair — it  was 
such  a  countenance  as  I  have  imagined  a 
young  Chaldean  might  have  had  who  was 
destined  to  the  high  calling  of  astrology.  It 
was  a  face  to  charm,  to  electrify  the  beholder 
with  its  indescribable,  almost  unearthly  loveli- 
ness of  features  and  expression. 

The  engine  whistled,  the  bell  rang,  and  as 
the  train  moved  on,  that  slender,  almost 
fragile  form  and  wonderful  face  disappeared 
in  the  darkness. 

As  the  roar  and  clash  of  the  receding  cars 
began  to  grow  faint  in  the  distance,  a  gurgling, 
grunting  sound  over  in  the  saloon  reminded 
me  that  the  bar-tender  might  need  some  atten- 


WAS  SHE  A  BOY!  27 

tion,  so  I  stepped  across  the  street  and  went 
in.  He  was  just  taking  himself  up  from  the 
floor,  with  his  nose  badly  smashed,  spurting 
blood  over  him  pretty  freely.  He  was  in  an 
ecstasy  of  fury  and  swore  fearfully.  I  rendered 
him  all  the  aid  I  could,  getting  the  blood 
stopped,  at  length,  and  a  plaster  over  the 
wound. 

"Who  struck  you!"  I  asked. 

u  Who  struck  me  !  Who  hit  me  with  that 
'ere  brick,  d'ye  say  !  Who  but  that  little  baby- 
faced,  hawk-eyed  cuss  'at  got  off  here  yester- 
day !  He's  a  thief  and  a  dog ! — he's  chowzed 
me  out'n  my  last  cent!  Where  is  he? — I'll 
kill  'ini  yet !  where  is  he  !" 

"Gone  off  on  the  train,"  I  replied,  "but 
who  is  he  !  what's  his  name  !" 

"  Blamed  if  I  know.  Gone,  you  say  !  Got 
every  derned  red  o'  my  money !  Every  derned 
red!" 

"Don't  you  know  anything  at  all  about 
him!"  I  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"What!" 

"I  know  'at  he's  the  derndest,  alfiredest, 
snatch in'est,  best  poker-player  'at  ever  dealt 
a  card !" 

"Is  that  all!" 


28  A  BOOK  OF  nOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"That's  enough,  I'd  say.  If  you'd  been 
beat  out'n  two  hundred  an'  odd  dollars  you'd 
think  you  kuow'd  a  right  smart,  wouldn't  ye?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  I.  The  question  had  a 
world  of  philosophy  and  logic  in  it. 

The  shattered  wreck  of  a  magnificent  guitar 
lay  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  I  picked  it  up, 
and,  engraved  on  a  heavy  silver  plate  set  in 
the  ebony  neck,  I  read  the  name,  Georgina 
Olive  Afton. 


^ROUT'S  ^UCK 


As  early  as  eight  o'clock  the  grand  entrance 
gateway  to  the  Kokomo  fair  ground  was 
thronged  with  vehicles  of  almost  every  kind ; 
horsemen,  pedestrians,  dogs  and  dust  were 
borne  forward  together  in  clouds  that  boiled 
and  swayed  and  tumbled.  Noise  seemed  to 
be  the  chief  purpose  of  every  one  and  the  one 
certain  result  of  every  thing  in  the  crowd. 

This  had  been  advertised  as  the  merriest 
day  that  might  ever  befall  the  quiet,  honest 
folk  of  the  rural  regions  circumjacent  to 
Kokomo,  and  it  is  even  hinted  that  aristocratic 
dames  and  business  plethoric  men  of  the  town 
itself  had  caught  somewhat  of  the  excitement 
spread  abroad  by  the  announcement  in  the 
county  papers,  and  by  huge  bills  posted  in 
conspicuous  places,  touching  Le  Papillou  and 
his  monster  balloon,  which  balloon  and  which 
Le  Papillon  were  pictured  to  the  life,  on  the 
said  posters,  in  the  act  of  sailing  over  the  sun, 
and  under  the  picture,  in  remarkably  distinct 
letters,  u  No  humbug !  go  to  the  fair !" 
3* 


30  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

Dozier's  minstrel  troupe  was  dancing  and 
singing  attendance  on  this  agricultural  ex- 
hibition, too,  and  somebody's  whirling  pavilion, 
a  shooting  gallery,  a  monkey  show,  the  glass 
works,  and  what  not  of  tempting  promises  of 
entertainments,  "  amusing  and  instructive." 

Until  eleven  o'clock  the  entrance  gateway 
to  the  fair  ground  was  crowded.  Farm  wagons 
trundled  in,  drawn  by  sleek,  well  fed  plough 
nags,  and  stowed  full  of  smiling  folk,  old  and 
young,  male  and  female,  from  the  out  town- 
ships j  buggies  with  youths  and  maidens,  the 
sparkle  of  breastpins  and  flutter  of  ribbons ; 
spring  wagons  full  of  students  and  hard  bats 
from  town  j  carriages  brimming  with  laces, 
flounces,  over  skirts,  fancy  kid  gloves,  funny 
little  hats  and  less  bonnets,  all  fermented  into 
languid  ebullition  by  mikl-eyed  ladies  j  omni- 
buses that  bore  fleshy  gentlemen,  who  wore 
linen  dusters  and  silk  hats  and  smoked  tine 
cigars ;  and  jammed  in  among  all  these  were 
boys  on  skittish  colts,  old  fellows  on  flea-bit 
gray  mares,  with  now  and  then  a  reckless 
stripling  on  a  mule.  Occasionally  a  dog  got 
kicked  or  run  over,  giving  the  assistance  of 
his  howls  and  yelps  to  the  general  din,  and 
over  all  the  dust  hung  heavily  in  a  yellow 
cloud,  shot  through  with  the  lightning  of  bur- 


trout's  luck.  31 

Dished  trappings  and  echoing  with  the  hoarse 
thunder  of  the  trampling,  shouting  rumbling 
multitude.  Indeed,  that  hot  aguish  autumn 
day  let  fall  its  sunshine  on  the  heads  and  blew 
its  feverish  breath  through  the  rifts  of  the 
greatest  and  liveliest  mass  of  people  ever 
assembled  in  Howard  county. 

Inside  the  extensive  enclosure  the  multitude 
divided  itself  into  streams,  ponds,  eddies,  re- 
fluent currents  and  noisy  whirlpools  of  people. 
Some  rare  attraction  was  everywhere. 

Early  in  the  day  the  eyes  of  certain  of  the 
rustic  misses  followed  admiringly  the  forms  of 
Jack  Trout  and  Bill  Powell,  handsome  young 
fellows  dressed  in  homespun  clothes,  who, 
arm  in  arm,  strolled  leisurely  across  the 
grounds,  looking  sharply  about  for  some 
proper  place  to  begin  the  expenditure  of  what 
few  dimes  they  had  each  been  able  to  hoard 
up  against  this  gala  day.  They  had  not  long- 
to  hunt.  On  every  hand  the  "  hawkers 
hawked  their  wares." 

Kising  and  falling,  tender-toned,  deftly  man- 
aged, a  voice  rang  out  across  the  crowd  plead- 
ing with  those  who  had  long  desired  a  good 
investment  for  their  money,  and  begging  them 
to  be  sure  and  not  let  slip  this  last  golden 
opportunity. 


32  A  BOOK  OP  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"Only  a  half  a  dollah!  Come  right  along 
this  way  now !  Here's  the  great  golden  scheme 
by  which  thousands  have  amassed  nntold  for- 
tunes !  Here's  your  only  and  last  chance  to 
get  two  ounces  of  first  class  candy,  with  the 
probability  of  five  dollars  in  gold  coin,  all  for 
the  small  sum  of  half  a  dollah !  And  the  cry 
is — still  they  come  !" 

The  speaker  was  such  a  man  as  one  often 
observes  in  a  first  class  railway  car,  with  a 
stout  valise  beside  him  containing  samples, 
dressed  with  remarkable  care,  and  ever  on  the 
alert  to  make  one's  acquaintance.  He  stood 
on  top  of  a  small  table  or  tripod,  holding  in 
his  hand  a  green  pasteboard  package  just 
taken  from  a  box  at  his  feet. 

"  Only  a  half  a  dollah  and  a  fortune  in  your 
grasp  !  Here's  the  gold !  Roll  right  this  way 
and  run  your  pockets  over !" 

Drifting  round  with  the  tide  of  impulsive 
pleasure  seekers  into  which  they  happened  to 
fall,  Jack  Trout  and  Bill  Powell  floated  past  a 
bevy  of  lasses,  the  prettiest  of  whom  was 
Minny  Hart,  a  girl  whose  healthy,  vivid  beauty 
was  fast  luring  Jack  on  to  the  rock  of  matri- 
monial proposals. 

"Jimminy,  but  ain't  she  a  little  sweety!" 
exclaimed  the  latter,  x>inching  Bill's  arm  as 
they  passed,  and  glancing  lovingly  at  Minny. 


trout's  luck.  33 

"You're  tellin'  the  truth  and  talkin'  it 
smooth,"  replied  Bill,  bowing  to  the  girls  with 
tjie  swagger  peculiar  to  a  rustic  who  imagines 
he  has  turned  a  fine  period.  And  with  flutter- 
ing hearts  the  boys  passed  on. 

"  Boll  on  ye  torrents !  Only  a  half  a  dollah ! 
Bight  this  way  if  you  want  to  become  a  bloated 
aristocrat  in  less  than  no  time !  Five  dollahs 
in  gold  for  only  a  half  a  dollah !  And  whose 
the  next  lucky  man  ?" 

Blown  by  the  fickle,  gusty  breath  of  luck, 
our  two  young  friends  were  finally  wafted  to 
the  feet  of  this  oily  vendor  of  prize  packages,, 
and  they  there  lodged,  becalmed  in  breathless 
interest,  to  await  their  turn,  each  full  of  faitLu 
in  the  yellow  star  of  his  fortune — a  gold  coin 
of  the  value  of  five  dollars.  They  stood  atten- 
tively watching  the  results  of  other  men's  in- 
vestments, feeling  their  fingers  tingle  when, 
now  and  then  some  lucky  fellow  drew  the  cov- 
eted prize.  Five  dollars  is  a  mighty  tempta- 
tion to  a  poor  country  boy  in  Indiana.  That 
sura  will  buy  oceans  of  fun  at  a  fair  where 
almost  any  "sight"  is  to  be  seen  for  the 
"  small  sum  of  twenty-five  cents !" 

Without  stopping  to  take  into  consideration 
the  possible,  or  rather,  the  probable  result  of 
such  a  venture,  Bill  Powell  handed  up  his 


34  A  BOOK  OF  H03SIER  3IOSA.I03. 

half  dollar  to  the  prize  man,  thus  risking  the 
major  part  of  all  the  money  he  had,  and  stood 
trembling  with  excitement  while  the  fellow 
broke  open  the  chosen  package.  Was  it  sig- 
nificant of  anything  that  a  blue  jay  fluttered 
for  a  moment  right  over  the  crier's  head  just 
at  the  point  of  his  detaching  some  glittering 
object  from  the  contents  of  the  box  ! 

u  Here  you  are,  my  friend ;  luck's  a  fortune !" 
yelled  the  man,  as  he  held  the  gold  coin  high 
above  his  head,  shaking  it  in  full  view  of  all 
eyes  in  the  multitude.  "  Here  you  are !  which 
'd  you  rather  have,  the  gold  or  live  and  a  half 
in  greenbacks  P 

"  Hand  me  in  the  rag  chips— gold  don't  feel 
good  to  my  fingers,"  answered  Bill  Powell, 
swaggering  again  and  grasping  the  currency 
with  a  hand  that  shook  with  eagerness. 

Jack  Trout  stood  by,  clutching  in  his  fever- 
ish palm  a  two-dollar  bill.  His  face  was  pale, 
his  lips  set,  his  muscles  rigid.  He  hesitated 
to  trust  in  the  star  of  his  destiny.  He  stood 
eyeing  the  bridge  of  Lodi,  the  dykes  of  Arcole. 
Would  he  risk  all  on  a  bold  venture?  His 
right  shoulder  began  to  twitch  convulsively. 

"Still  it  rolls,  and  who's  the  next  lucky 
man  ?  Don't  all  speak  at  once !  Who  wants 
five  dollahs  in  gold  and  two  ounces  of  deli- 


trout's  luck.  35 

cious  candy,  all  for  the  small  sura  of  half  a 
dollah  P 

Jack  made  a  mighty  effort  and  passed  up 
his  two  dollar  bill. 

"Bravely  done;  select  your  packages!" 
cried  the  vendor.  Jack  tremblingly  pointed 
them  out.  Very  carelessly  and  quietly  the  fel- 
low opened  them,  and  with  a  ludicrous  grimace 
remarked — 

"  Eight  ounces  of  mighty  sweet  candy,  but 
nary  a  prize !  Better  luck  next  time !  Only  a 
half  a  dollah !  And  who's  the  next  lucky  man  V 

A  yell  of  laughter  from  the  crowd  greeted 
this  occurrence,  and  Jack  floated  back  on  the 
recoiling  waves  of  his  chagrin  till  he  was  hid- 
den in  the  dense  concourse,  and  the  upper- 
most thought  in  his  mind  found  forcible  ex- 
pression in  the  three  monosyllables :  "  Hang 
the  luck  P 

It  is  quite  probable  that  of  all  the  unfortu- 
nate adventurers  that  day  singed  in  the  yel- 
low fire  of  that  expert  gambler's  gold,  Jack 
recognized  himself  as  the  most  terribly  burned. 
Putting  his  hands  into,  his  empty  pockets,  he 
sauntered  dolefully  about,  scarcely  able  to 
look  straight  into  the  face  of  such  friends  as 
he  chanced  to  meet.  He  acted  as  if  hunting 
for  something  lost  on  the  ground.    Poor  fel 


36  A  BOOK  OF  IIO OSIER  MOSAICS. 

low,  it  was  a  real  relief  to  him  when  some  one 
treated  him  to  a  glass  of  lemonade,  and,  in- 
deed, so  much  were  his  feelings  relieved  by 
the  cool  potation,  that  when,  soon  after,  he  met 
Minny  Hart,  he  was  actually  smiling. 

"  O,  Jack !"  'cried  the  pretty  girl,  "  I'm  so 
glad  to  see  you  just  now,  for  I  do  want  to  go 
into  the  minstrel  show  so  bad  'I*  She  shot  a 
glance  of  coquettish  tenderness  right  into  Jack's 
heart.  For  a  single  moment  he  was  blessed, 
but  on  feeling  for  his  money  and  recalling  the 
luckless  result  of  his  late  venture,  he  felt  a 
chill  creep  up  his  back,  and  a  lump  of  the  size 
of  his  list  jump  up  into  his  throat.  Here  was 
a  bad  affair  for  him.  He  stood  for  a  single 
point  of  time  staring  into  the  face  of  his 
despair,  then,  acting  on  the  only  plan  he  could 
think  of  to  escape  from  the  predicament,  he 
said: 

"Wait  a  bit,  Minny,  I've  got  to  go  jist  down 
here  a  piece  to  see  a  feller.  I'll  be  back 
d'rectly.  You  stay  right  here  and  when  I 
come  back  I'll  trot  you  in." 

So  speaking,  as  if  in  a  great  hurry,  and 
sweating  cold  drops,  with  a  ghastly  smile 
flickering  on  his  face,  the  young  man  slipped 
away  into  the  crowd. 

Minny  failed  to  notice  his  confusion,  and  so 


trout's  luck.  37 

called  after  him  cheerily :  u  Well,  hurry,  Jack, 
for  I'm  most  dead  to  see  the  show  !* 

What  could  Trout  do  !  He  spun  round  aud 
rouud  in  that  vast  flood  of  people  like  a  fish 
with  but  one  eye.  He  rushed  here,  he  darted 
there,  and  ever  and  anon,  as  a  lost  man  returns 
upon  his  starting  point,  he  came  in  sight  of 
sweet  Minny  Hart  patiently  waiting  for  his 
return.  Then  he  would  spring  back  into  the 
crowd  like  a  deer  leaping  back  into  a  thicket 
at  sight  of  a  hunter.  Penniless  at  the  fair, 
with  Minny  Hart  waiting  for  him  to  take  her 
into  the  show !  Few  persons  can  realize  how 
keenly  he  now  felt  the  loss  of  his  money.  He 
ought,  no  doubt,  to  have  told  the  lass  at  once 
just  how  financial  matters  stood ;  but  nothing 
was  more  remote  from  his  mind  than  doing 
anything  of  the  kind.     He  was  too  vain. 

"  Tell  'er  I  'ain't  got  no  money !  No,  sir-ee  P 
he  muttered.  "But  what  am  I  to  dof  Bust 
the  luck !    Hang  the  luck !    Rot  the  luck !" 

He  hurried  hither  and  thither,  intent  on 
nothing  and  taking  no  heed  of  the  course  he 
pursued.  His  cheeks  were  livid  and  his  eyes 
had  in  them  that  painful,  worried,  wistful  look 
so  often  seen  in  the  eyes  of  men  going  home 
from  ruin  on  Wall  street. 

Meantime  that  sea  of  persons  surged  this 
4 


38  A.  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

way  and  that,  flecked  with  a  foam  of  ribbons 
and  dancing  bubbles  of  hats,  now  flowing 
slowly  through  the  exhibition  rooms  a  tide  of 
critics,  now  breaking  into  groups  and  scattered 
throngs  of  babblers,  anon  uniting  to  roar 
round  some  novel  engine  suddenly  set  to  work, 
or  to  break  on  the  barrier  of  the  trolling  ring 
into  a  spray  of  cravats  and  a  mist  of  flounces. 
Swimming  round  in  this  turbulent  tide  like  a 
crazy  flounder  with  but  one  fin,  Jack  finally 
found  himself  hard  by  the  pavilion  of  the 
minstrels.  He  could  hear  somewhat  of  the 
side-splitting  jokes,  with  the  laughs  that 
followed,  the  tinkle  of  banjo  accompaniments 
and  the  mellow  cadences  of  plantation  songs, 
the  rattle  of  castanets  and  the  tattoo  of  the  jig 
dancers'  feet.  A  thirst  like  the  thirst  of  fever 
took  hold  of  him. 

"  Gome  straight  along  gentlemen  and  ladies ! 
This  celebrated  troupe  is  now  performing  and 
twenty-five  cents  pays  the  bill !  Only  a 
quawtah  of  a  dollah!"  bawled  the  fat  crier 
from  his  lofty  perch.  u  That's  right,  my  young 
man,  take  the  young  lady  in !  She's  sure  to 
love  you  better;  walk  right  along!" 

"  Her  lip  am  sweet  as  sugah, 

Her  eye  am  bright  as  wine, 
Dat  yaller  little  boogah 

Her  name  am  Emilinel" 


trout's  luck.  39 

sung  by  four  fine  voices,  came  bubbling  from 
within.  The  music  thrilled  Jack  to  the  bone, 
and  he  felt  once  more  for  his  money.  Not  a 
cent.    This  was  bad. 

"  You're  the  lad  for  me,"  continued  the  fat 
man  on  the  high  seat;  "  take  your  nice  little 
sweetheart  right  in  and  let  her  see  the  fun. 
Walk  right  in  F 

Jack  looked  to  see  who  it  was,  and  a  pang 
shot  through  his  heart  and  settled  in  the  very 
marrow  of  his  bones ;  for  lo !  arm  in  arm,  Bill 
Powell  and  Minny  Hart  passed  under  the 
pavilion  into  the  full  glory  of  the  show ! 

"  0  cut  me  up  for  fish  bait 

An'  feed  me  to  de  swine, 
Don't  care  where  I  goes  to 

So  I  has  Emiline!" 

sang  the  minstrel  chorus. 

"  Dast  him,  he's  got  me !"  muttered  Jack  as 
Bill  and  Minny  disappeared  within.  He  turned 
away,  sick  at  heart,  and  this  was  far  from  the 
first  throe  of  jealousy  he  had  suffered  on  Bill's 
account.  Indeed  it  had  given  him  no  little 
uneasiness  lately  to  see  how  sweetly  Minny 
sometimes  smiled  on  young  Powell. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Jack  continued  to  mutter  to 
himself,  "yes,  sir,  he's  got  me!    He's  about 


40  A.  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

three  lengths  ahead  o'  ine,  as  these  hoss  fellers 
says,  an7 1  don't  know  but  what  Pin  distanced. 
Blow  the  blasted  luck  !" 

Heartily  tired  of  the  fair,  burning  with  rage, 
and  jealousy,  and  despair,  but  still  vaguely 
hoping  against  hope  for  some  better  luck  from 
some  visionary  source,  Jack  strolled  about, 
chewing  the  bitter  cud  of  his  feelings,  his 
hands  up  to  his  elbows  in  his  trowser  pockets 
and  his  soul  up  to  its  ears  in  the  flood  of  dis- 
content. He  puckered  his  mouth  into  whistling 
position,  but  it  refused  to  whistle.  He  felt  as 
if  he  had  a  corn  cob  crossways  in  his  throat. 
The  wind  blew  his  new  hat  off  and  a  mule 
kicked  the  top  out  of  the  crown. 

"  Only  a  half  a  dollah !  Who's  the  next 
lucky  man?"  cried  the  prize  package  fellow. 
"  I'm  now  going  to  sell  a  new  sort  of  packages, 
each  of  which,  beside  the  usual  amount  of 
choice  candy,  contains  a  piece  of  jewelry  of 
pure  gold!  Who  takes  the  first  chance  for 
only  a  half  a  dollah?" 

"'Ere's  your  mule!"  answered  Bill  Powell, 
as  with  Minny  still  clinging  to  his  arm,  he 
pushed  through  the  crowd  and  handed  up  the 
money. 

"  Bravely  done  !"  shouted  the  crier ;  **  see 
what  a  beautiful  locket  and  chain !    Luck's  a 


TROUT'S  luck.  41 

fortune!  And  who's  the  next  to  invest? 
Come  right  along  and  don't  be  afraid  of  a  little 
risk !    Only  a  half  a  dollah  !" 

Jack  saw  Bill  put  the  glittering  chain  round 
Minuy's  neck  and  fasten  the  locket  in  her  belt; 
saw  the  eyes  of  the  sweet  girl  gleam  proudly, 
gratefully;  saw  black  spots  dancing  before 
his  own  eyes ;  saw  Bill  swagger  and  toss  his 
head.  He  turned  dizzily  away,  whispering 
savagely,  "  Dern  'iin  !" 

Just  here  let  me  say  that  such  an  expression 
is  not  a  profane  one.  I  once  saw  a  preacher 
kick  at  a  little  dog  that  got  in  his  way  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  minister's  foot  missed  the 
little  dog  and  hit  an  iron  fence,  and  the  little 
dog  bit  the  minister's  other  leg  and  jumped 
through  the  fence.  The  minister  performed 
upasde  zephyr  and  very  distinctly  said  "Dern 
'im !"  Wherefore  I  don't  think  it  can  be  any- 
thing more  than  a  mere  puff  of  fretfulness. 

After  this  Jack  was  for  some  time  standing 
near  the  entrance  to  the  "glass-works,"  a 
place  where  transparent  steam  engines  and 
wonderful  fountains  were  on  exhibition.  He 
felt  a  grim  delight  in  tantalizing  himself  with 
'looking  at  the  pictures  of  these  things  and 
wishing  he  had  money  enough  to  pay  the 
entrance  fee.  He  saw  persons  pass  in  eagerly 
4* 


42  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

and  come  out  calm  and  satisfied — men  with 
their  wives  and  children,  young  men  with  girls 
on  their  arms,  prominent  among  whom  were 
Bill  and  Minny,  and  one  dapper  sportsman 
even  bought  a  ticket  for  his  setter,  and,  pat- 
ting the  brute  on  the  head,  took  him  in. 

"  Onery  nor  a  dog!"  hissed  Jack,  shambling 
off,  and  once  more  taking  a  long  deep  dive 
under  the  surface  of  the  crowd.  A  ground 
swell  cast  him  again  near  the  vender  of  prize 
packages. 

"  Only  a  half  a  dollah  !"  he  yelled  ;  "  come 
where  fortune  smiles,  and  cares  and  poverty 
take  flight,  for  only  a  half  a  dollah  !" 

"  Jist  fifty  cents  more'n  I've  got  about  my 
clothes  !"  replied  Jack,  and  the  bystanders, 
taking  this  for  great  wit,  joined  in  a  roar  of 
laughter,  while  with  a  grim  smile  the  des- 
perate youth  passed  on  till  he  found  himself 
near  the  toe  mark  of  a  shooting  gallery,  where 
for  five  cents  one  might  have  two  shots  with 
an  air  gun.  He  stood  there  for  a  time  watch- 
ing a  number  of  persons  try  their  marksman- 
ship. It  was  small  joy  to  kn*w  that  he  was 
a  fine  off-hand  shot,  so  long  as  he  had  not  a 
nickel  in  his  pocket,  but  still  he  stood  there 
wishing  he  might  try  his  hand. 

"  QPar  the  track  here  !    Let  this  'ere  lady 


trout's  luck.  43 

take  a  shoot !"  cried  a  familiar  voice;  and  a 
way  was  opened  for  Bill  Powell  and  Minny 
Hart.  The  little  maiden  was  placed  at  the 
toe  mark  and  a  gun  given  to  her.  She  handled 
the  weapon  like  one  used  to  it.  She  raised  it, 
shut  one  eye,  took  deliberate  aim  and  fired. 

u  Centre !"  roared  the  marker,  as  to  the  sound 
of  a  bell  the  funny  little  puppet  leaped  up  and 
grinned  above  the  target.  Every  body  stand- 
ing near  laughed  and  some  of  the  boys  cheered 
vociferously.  Minny  looked  sweeter  than  ever. 
Jack  Trout  felt  famished.  He  begged  a  chew 
of  tobacco  of  a  stranger,  and,  grinding  the 
weed  furiously,  walked  off  to  where  the  yellow 
pavilion  with  its  painted  air-boats  was  whirl- 
ing its  cargoes  of  happy  boys  and  girls  rouud 
and  round  for  the  "  Small  sum  of  ten  cents." 
A  long,  lean,  red-headed  fellow  in  one  of  the 
boats  was  paying  for  a  ride  of  limitless  length 
by  scraping  on  a  miserable  fiddle.  To  Jack 
this  seemed  small  labor  for  so  much  fun.  How 
he  envied  the  fiddler  as  he  flew  round,  trailing 
his  tunes  behind  him  ! 

"  Wo'erp  there !  Stop  yer  old  merchine  ! 
We'll  take  a  ride  ef  ye  don't  keer  !" 

The  pavilion  was  stopped,  a  boat  lowered 
for  Bill  Powell  and  Minny  Hart,  who  got  in 
side  by  side,  and  the  fiddler  struck  up  the 


44  A.  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

tune  of  "  Black-eyed  Susie.7'  Jack  watched 
that  happy  couple  go  rouud  and  round,  till, 
by  the  increased  velocity,  their  two  faces 
melted  into  one,  which  was  neither  Bill's  nor 
Minny's— it  was  Luck's ! 

"He's  got  one  outo  me,"  muttered  Jack; 
u  I've  got  no  money,  can't  fiddle  for  a  ride,  nor 
nothin',  and  I  don't  keer  a  ding  what  becomes 
o'  me,  nohow  !" 

With  these  words  Jack  wended  his  way  to  a 
remote  part  of  the  fair  ground,  where,  under 
gay  awnings,  the  sutlers  Jiad  spread  their 
tempting  variety  of  cakes,  pies,  fruits,  nuts 
and  loaves.  Here  were  persons  of  all  ages  and 
sizes — men,  women  and  children— eating  at 
well  supplied  tables.  The  sight  was  a  fascinat- 
ing one,  and,  though  seeing  others  eat  did  not 
in  the  least  appease  his  own  hunger,  Jack 
stood  for  a  long  time  watching  the  departure 
of  pies  and  the  steady  lessening  of  huge  pyra- 
mids of  sweet  cakes.  He  particularly  noticed 
one  little  table  that  had  on  its  centre  a  huge 
peach  pie,  which  table  was  yet  unoccupied. 
While  he  was  actually  thinking  over  the  plan 
of  eating  the  pie  and  trusting  to  his  legs  to 
bear  him  beyond  the  reach  of  a  dun,  Bill  and 
Minny  sat  down  by  the  table  and  proceeded  to 
discuss  the  delicious,  red-hearted  heap  of  pas- 
try.   At  this  point  Bill  caught  Jack's  eye : 


trout's  luck.  45 

"Come  here,  Jack,"  said  be;  "this  pie's 
more'n  we  can  eat,  come  and  help  us." 

"  Yes,  come  along,  Jack,"  put  in  Minuy  in 
her  sweetest  way;  "  I  want  to  tell  you  what  a 
lot  of  fun  we've  had,  and  more  than  that,  I 
want  to  know  why  you  didn't  come  back  and 
take  me  into  the  show !" 

"  I  ain't  hungry,"  muttered  Jack,  "  and  be- 
sides I've  got  to  go  see  a  feller." 

He  turned  away  almost  choking. 

«  Bill's  got  me.  'Taint  no  use  talkiu',  I'm 
played  out  for  good.    I'm  a  trumped  Jack !" 

He  smiled  a  sort  of  flinty  smile  at  his  poor 
wit,  and  shuffled  aimlessly  along  through  the 
densest  clots  of  the  crowd. 

And  it  so  continued  to  happen,  that  wher- 
ever Jack  happened  to  stop  for  any  consider- 
able length  of  time  he  was  sure  to  see  Bill  and 
Minny  enjoying  some  rare  treat,  or  disappear- 
ing in  or  emerging  from  some  place  of  amuse- 
ment. 

At  last,  driven  to  desperation,  he  determined 
on  trying  to  borrow  a  dollar  from  his  father. 
He  immediately  set  about  to  find  the  old  gen- 
tleman ;  a  task  of  no  little  difficulty  in  such  a 
crowd.  It  was  Jack's  forlorn  hope,  and  it  had 
a  gloomy  outlook ;  for  old 'Squire  Trout  was 
thought  by  competent  judges  to  be  the  stin- 


46  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

giest  man  in  the  county.  But  hoping  for  the 
best,  Jack  hunted  him  here,  there  and  every- 
where, till  at  length  he  met  a  friend  who  said 
he  had  seen  the  'Squire  in  the  act  of  leaving 
the  fair  ground  for  home  just  a  few  minutes 
before. 

Taking  no  heed  of  what  folks  might  say, 
Jack,  on  receiving  this  intelligence,  darted 
across  the  ground,  out  at  the  gate  and  down 
the  road  at  a  speed  worthy  of  success ;  but 
alas !  his  hopes  were  doomed  to  wilt.  At  the 
first  turn  of  the  road  he  met  a  man  who  in- 
formed him  that  he  had  passed  'Squire  Trout 
some  three  miles  out  on  his  way  home,  which 
home  was  full  nine  miles  distant ! 

Panting,  crestfallen,  defeated,  done  for,  poor 
Jack  slowly  plodded  back  to  the  fair  ground 
gate,  little  dreaming  of  the  new  trouble  that 
awaited  him  there. 

"Ticket!"  said  a  gruff  voice  as  he  was  about 
to  pass  in.  He  recoiled,  amazed  at  his  own 
stupidity,  as  he  recollected  that  he  had  not 
thought  to  get  a  check  as  he  wont  out !  He 
tried  to  explain,  but  it  was  no  go. 

"  You  needn't  try  that  game  on  me,"  said 
the  gatekeeper.  "  So  just  plank  down  your 
money  or  stay  outside." 

Then  Jack  got  furious,  but  the  gatekeeper 


trout's  luck.  47 

remarked  that  lie  had  frequently  "hearn  it 
thunder  afore  this  P 

Jack  smiled  like  a  corpse  and  turned  away. 
Going  a  short  distance  down  the  road  he  climbed 
up  and  sat  down  on  top  of  the  fence  of  a  late 
mown  clover  field.  Then  he  took  out  his  jack- 
knife  and  began  to  whittle  a  splinter  plucked 
from  a  rail.  His  face  was  gloomy,  his  eyes 
lustreless.  Finally  he  stretched  himself,  hun- 
gry, jealous,  envious,  hateful,  on  top  of  the 
fence  with  his  head  between  the  crossed  stakes. 
His  face  thus  upturned  to  heaven,  he  watched 
two  crows  drift  over,  high  up  in  the  torrid 
reaches  of  autumn  air,  hot  as  summer,  even 
hotter,  and  allowed  his  lips  free  privilege  to 
anathematize  his  luck.  For  a  long  time  he  lay 
thus,  dimly  conscious  of  the  blue  bird's  song 
and  the  water-like  ripple  of  the  grass  in  the 
fence  corners.  u  Minny,  Minny  Hart,  Minny  P 
sang  the  meadow  larks,  and  the  burden  of  the 

grasshopper's  ditty  was "  Only  a  half  a 

dollah!" 

All  at  once  there  arose  from  the  fair  ground 
a  mighty  chorus  of  yells,  that  went  echoing  off 
across  the  country  to  the  bluffs  of  Wild-cat 
Creek  and  died  far  off  in  the  woods  toward 
Greentown.  Jack  did  not  raise  his  head,  but 
lay  there  in  a  sort  of  morose  stupor,  knowing 


48  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

well  that  whatever  the  sport  might  be,  he  had 
no  hand  in  it. 

a  Let'em  rip !"  he  muttered,  u  Bill's  got  me!" 

Presently  the  wagons  and  other  vehicles  be- 
gan to  leave  the  ground,  from  one  of  which  be 
caught  the  sound  of  a  sweet,  familiar  voice. 
He  looked  just  in  time  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Mr. 
Hart's  wagon,  and  in  it,  side  by  side,  Bill  Powell 
and  Minny  !  A  cloud  of  yellow  dust  soon  hid 
them,  and  turning  away  his  head,  happening 
to  glance  upward,  Jack  saw,  just  disappearing 
in  a  thin  white  cloud,  the  golden  disc  of  Le 
Papillon's  balloon ! 

He  immediately  descended  from  his  perch 
and  began  plodding  his  way  home,  muttering 
as  he  did  so 

"Dast  the  luck!  Ding  the  prize  package 
feller !  Doggone  Bill  Powell !  Blame  the  old 
Moon !    Dern  everybody !" 

It  was  long  after  nightfall  when  he  reached 
his  father's  gate.  Hungry,  weak,  foot-sore, 
collapsed,  he  leaned  his  chin  on  the  top  rail 
of  the  gate  and  stood  there  for  a  moment  while 
the  starlight  fell  around  him,  sifted  through 
the  dusky  foliage  of  the  old  beech  trees,  and 
from  the  far  dim  caverns  of  the  night  a  voice 
smote  on  his  ear,  crying  out  tenderly,  mock- 
ingly, persuasively 


trout's  luck.  49 

"Only  a  half  adollah!" 

And  Jack  slipped  to  bis  room  and  went  sup- 
perless  to  bed,  often  during  the  night  mutter- 
ing, through  the  interstices  of  his  sleep 

"Bill's  got  me P 

5 


$IG  JeDIGINE. 


The  corner  brick  storehouse— in  fact  the 
only  brick  building  in  Jimtown— was  to  be 
sold  at  auction;  and,  consequently,  by  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  a  considerable  body  of 
men  had  collected  near  the  somewhat  dilapi- 
dated house,  directly  in  front  of  which  the 
auctioneer,  a  fat  man  from  Indianapolis, 
mounted  on  an  old  goods  box,  began  crying, 
partly  through  his  tobacco-filled  mouth  and 
partly  through  his  very  unmusical  nose,  as 
follows : — 

"Come  up,  gentlemen,  and  examine  the 
new,  beautiful  and  commodious  property  I 
now  offer  for  sale!  Walk  round  the  house, 
men,  and  view  it  from  every  side.  Go  into  it, 
if  you  like,  up  stairs  and  down,  and  then  give 
me  a  bid,  somebody,  to  start  with.  It  is  a 
very  desirable  house,  indeed,  gentlemen." 

With  this  preliminary  puff,  the  speaker 
paused  and  glanced  slowly  over  his  audience 
with  the  air  of  a  practiced  physiognomist. 


BIG  MEDICINE.  51 

The  crowd  before  him  was,  in  many  respects, 
an  interesting  one.  Its  most  prominent  indi- 
vidual, and  the  hero  of*  this  sketch,  was  Dave 
Cook,  sometimes  called  Dr.  Cook,  but  more 
commonly  answering  to  the  somewhat  savage 
sounding  sobriquet  of  Big  Medicine — a  man 
some  thirty-five  years  of  age,  standing  six  feet 
six  in  his  ponderous  boots ;  broad,  bony,  mus- 
cular, a  real  giant,  with  a  strongly  marked 
Roman  face,  and  brown,  shaggy  hair.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  soiled  and  somewhat  patched  suit 
of  butternut  jeans,  topped  off  with  a  wide 
rimmed  wool  hat,  wonderfully  battered,  and 
lopped  in  every  conceivable  way.  He  wore  a 
watch,  the  chain  of  which,  depending  from  the 
waistband  of  his  pants,  was  of  iron,  and  would 
have  weighed  fully  a  pound  avoirdupois.  He 
stood  quite  still,  near  the  auctioneer,  smoking 
a  clay  pipe,  his  herculean  arms  folded  on  his 
breast,  his  feet  far  apart.  As  for  the  others 
of  the  crowd,  they  were,  taken  collectively, 
about  such  as  one  used  always  to  see  in  the 
"  dark  corners B  of  Indiana,  such  as  Boone 
county  used  to  be  before  the  building  of  any 
railroads  through  it,  such  as  the  particular 
locality  of  Jimtown  was  before  the  ditching 
law  and  the  I.  B.  &  W.  llailway  had  lifted 
the  fog  and  enlightened  the  miasmatic  swamps 


52  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

and  densely  timbered  bog  lands  of  that  region 
of  elms,  burr  oaks,  frogs  and  herons.  Big 
Medicine  seemed  to  be  the  only  utterly  com- 
placent man  in  the  assembly.  All  the  others 
discovered  evidences  of  mucb  inward  disturb- 
ance, muttering  mysteriously  to  each  other, 
and  casting  curious,  inquiring  glances  at  an 
individual,  a  stranger  in  the  place,  who,  with 
a  pair  of  queer  green  spectacles  astride  his 
nose,  and  his  arms  crossed  behind  him,  was 
slowly  sauntering  about  the  building  offered 
for  sale,  apparently  examining  it  with  some 
care.  His  general  appearance  was  that  of  a 
well  dressed  gentleman,  which  of  itself  was 
enough  to  excite  remark  in  Jiintown,  espe- 
cially when  an  auction  was  on  hand,  and 
everybody  felt  jolly. 

u  Them  specs  sticks  to  that  nose  o'  his'n  like 
a  squir'l  to  a  knot  V*  said  one. 

"  His  pantaloons  is  ruther  inclined  to  be 
knock-kneed,"  put  in  an  old,  grimy  sinner 
leaning  on  a  single  barrelled  shot  gun. 

M  Got  lard  enough  onto  his  hair  to  shorten  a 
mess  o7  pie  crust,"  added  a  liver  colored  boy. 

"Walks  like  he'd  swallered  a  fence  rail, 
too,"  chimed  in  a  humpbacked  fellow  split 
almost  to  his  chin. 

"  Chaws  mighty  fine  terbacker,  you  bet." 


BIG  MEDICINE.  53 

"Them  there  boots  o'  his'n  set  goin'  an' 
comin'  like  a  grubbin'  hoe  onto  a  crooked 
han'le." 

"  Well,  take'm  up  one  side  and  down  t'other, 
lie's  a  moderately  onery  lookin'  feller." 

These  remarks  were  reckoned  smart  by  those 
who  perpetrated  them,  and  were  by  no  means 
meant  for  real  slurs  on  the  individual  at  whom 
they  were  pointed.  Indeed  they  were  deliv- 
ered in  guarded  undertones,  so  that  he  might 
not  hear  them ;  and  he,  meanwhile,  utterly 
ignorant  of  affording  any  sport,  continued  his 
examination  of  the  house,  the  while  some  happy 
frogs  in  a  neighboring  pond  rolled  out  a  rat- 
tling, jubilant  chorus,  and  the  summer  wind 
poured  through  the  leafy  tops  of  the  tall  elms 
and  athletic  burr  oaks  with  a  swash  and  roar 
like  a  turbulent  river. 

"  What  am  I  now  offered  for  this  magnifi- 
cent property  ?  Come,  give  me  a  bid !  Speak 
up  lively !    What  do  I  hear  for  the  house  V 

The  auctioneer,  as  he  spoke,  let  his  eyes 
wander  up  the  walls  of  the  old,  dingy  building, 
to  where  the  blue  birds  and  the  peewees  had 
built  in  the  cracks  and  along  the  warped  cor- 
nice and  broken  window  frames,  and  just  then 
it  chanced  that  a  woman's  face  appeared  at 
one  of  those  staring  holes,  which,  with  broken 
5* 


54  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

lattice  and  shattered  glass,  still  might  be 
called  a  window.  The  face  was  a  plump, 
cheerful  one,  the  more  radiant  from  contrast 
with  the  dull  wall  around  it — a  face  one  could 
never  forget,  however,  and  would  recall  often, 
if  for  nothing  but  the  fine  fall  of  yellow  hair 
that  framed  it  in.  It  was  a  sweet,  winning, 
intellectual  face,  full  of  the  gentlest  womanly 
charms. 

"Forty  dollars  for  the  house,  'oman  and 
all!"  cried  Big  Medicine,  gazing  up  at  the 
window  in  which,  for  the  merest  moment,  the 
face  appeared. 

The  man  with  the  green  spectacles  darted  a 
quick  glance  at  the  speaker. 

"I  am  bid  forty  dollars,  gentlemen,  forty 
dollars,  do  all  hear?  Agoing  for  forty  dol- 
lars !    Who  says  fifty  F  bawled  the  auctioneer. 

The  crowd  now  swayed  earnestly  forward, 
closing  in  solid  order  around  the  goods  box. 
Many  whiskered,  uncouth,  but  not  unkindly 
faces  were  upturned  to  the  window  only  in 
time  to  see  the  beautiful  woman  disappear 
quite  hastily. 

"  Hooray  for  the  gal !"  cried  a  lusty  youth, 
whose  pale  blue  eyes  made  no  show  of  contrast 
with  his  faded  hair  and  aguish  complexion. 
"  Dad,  can't  ye  bid  agin  the  doctor  so  as  I  kin 
claim  'erf' 


BIG  MEDICINE.  55 

"  Fifty  dollars !"  shouted  the  sunburnt  man 
addressed  as  Dad. 

This  made  the  crowd  lively.  Every  man 
nudged  his  neighbor,  and  the  aguish,  blue- 
eyed  boy  grinned  in  a  ghastly,  self-satisfied 
way. 

"Agoing  at  fifty  dollars!  Fiddlesticks!  The 
house  is  worth  four  thousand.  No  fooling  here 
now !    Agoing  at  only  fifty  dollars— going — " 

"  Six  hundred  dollars,"  said  he  of  the  green 
glasses  in  a  clear,  pleasant  voice. 

"Six  hundred  dollars!"  echoed  the  auc- 
tioneer in  a  triumphant  thunderous  tone. 
"That  sounds  like  business.  Who  says  the 
other  hundred  I" 

"  Hooray  for  hooray,  and  hooray  for  hooray's 
daddy !"  shouted  the  tallow-faced  lad. 

The  frogs  pitched  their  song  an  octave 
higher,  the  blue  birds  aud  peewees  wheeled 
through  the  falling  floods  of  yellow  sunlight, 
and  lower  and  sweeter  rose  the  murmur  of  the 
tide  of  pulsating  air  as  it  lifted  and  swayed 
the  fresh  sprays  of  the  oaks  aud  elms.  The 
well  dressed  stranger  lighted  a  cigar,  took  off 
his  green  glasses  aud  put  them  carefully  in  his 
pocket,  then  took  a  cool  straight  look  at  Big 
Medicine. 

The  Roman  face  of  the  latter  was  just  theu 


56  A  BOOK  OF  IIOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

a  most  interesting  one.  It  was  expressive  of 
more  than  words  could  rightly  convey.  Six 
hundred  dollars,  cash  down,  was  a  big  sum 
for  the  crazy  old  house,  but  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  buy  it,  and  now  he  seemed  likely 
to  have  to  let  it  go  or  pay  more  than  it  was 
worth.  The  stem  of  his  clay  pipe  settled  back 
full  three  inches  into  his  firmly-set  mouth,  so 
that  there  seemed  imminent  danger  to  the 
huge  brown  moustache  that  overhung  the 
fiery  bowl.  He  returned  the  stare  of  the 
stranger  with  interest,  and  said — 

u  Six  hundred  an'  ten  dollars." 

"  Agoing,  a ,"  began  the  auctioneer. 

u  Six  twenty,"  said  the  stranger. 

u  Ago ." 

"  Six  twenty-one !"  growled  Big  Medicine. 

"  Six  twenty-five  V7  quickly  added  his  an- 
tagonist. 

Big  Medicine  glanced  heavenward,  and  for 
a  moment  allowed  his  eyes  to  follow  the  flight 
of  a  great  blue  heron  that  slowly  winged  its 
way,  high  up  in  the  yellow  summer  reaches  of 
splendor,  toward  the  distant  swamps  where 
the  white  sycamores  spread  their  fanciful  arms 
above  the  dark  green  maples  and  dusky  witch- 
hazel  thickets.  The  auctioneer,  a  close  ob- 
server, saw  an  ashy  hue,  a  barely  discernible 


BIG  MEDICINE.  57 

shade,  ripple  across  the  great  Eoman  face  as 
Big  Medicine  said,  in  a  jerking  tone  : 

"  Six  twenty-five  and  a  half!" 

The  stranger  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth 
and  smiled  placidly.  Ko  more  imperturbable 
countenance  could  be  imagined. 

"  Six  twenty-six  !"  he  said  gently. 

"  Take  the  ole  house  an*  be  denied  to  you  !" 
cried  Big  Medicine,  looking  furiously  at  his 
antagonist.  "Take  the  blamed  ole  shacke- 
merack  an'  all  the  cussed  blue-birds  an'  peer- 
weers  to  boot,  for  all  I  keer  F 

Everybody  laughed,  and  the  auctioneer  con- 
tinued : 

u  Agoing  for  six  twenty-six !  Who  says 
seven  hundred  1  Bid  up  lively !  Agoing 
once,  agoing  twice — once,  twice,  three-e.-e-e-e 
times!  Sold  to  Abner  Golding  for  six  hundred 
and  twenty-six  dollars,  and  as  cheap  as  dirt 
itself!" 

"Hooray  for  the  man  who  hed  the  most 
money !"  shouted  the  tallow-faced  boy. 

The  sale  was  at  an  end.  The  auctioneer 
came  down  from  his  box  and  wiped  his  face 
with  a  red  handkerchief.  The  crowd,  as  if 
blown  apart  by  a  puff  of  wind,  scattered  this 
way  and  that,  drifting  into  small,  grotesque 
groups  to  converse  together  on  whatever  topic 


58  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

might  happen  to  suggest  itself.  Big  Medicine 
seemed  inclined  to  be  alone,  but  the  irre- 
pressible youth  of  the  saffron  skin  ambled  up 
to  him  and  said,  in  a  tone  intended  for  comic : 

"Golly,  doctor,  but  didn't  that  'ere  gal 
projuce  a  orful  demand  for  the  ole  house! 
Didn't  she  set  the  ole  trap  off  when  she  peeked 
out'n  the  winder !" 

Big  Medicine  looked  down  at  the  strappiug 
boy,  much  as  a  lion  might  look  at  a  field  rat 
or  a  weasel,  then  he  doubled  his  hand  into 
an  enormous  fist  and  held  it  under  the  youth's 
nose,  saying  in  a  sort  of  growl  as  he  did  so : 

"You  see  this  'ere  bundle  o'  bones,  don't 
ye?" 

"  Guess  so,"  replied  the  youth. 

"  Well,  would  you  like  a  small  mess  of  it?" 

u  Not  as  anybody  knows  of." 

"  Well,  then,  keep  yer  denied  mouth  shet !" 

Which,  accordingly,  the  boy  proceeded  to 
do,  ambling  off  as  quickly  as  possible. 

About  this  time,  the  stranger,  having  put 
the  green  spectacles  back  upon  his  nose, 
walked  in  the  direction  of  'Squire  Tadmore's 
office,  accompanied  by  the  young  woman  who 
had  looked  from  the  window.  When  Big 
Medicine  saw  them  he  picked  up  a  stick  and 
began  furiously  to  whittle  it  with  his  jack 


BIG  MEDICINE.  59 

knife.  His  face  wore  a  comically  mingled 
look  of  chagrin,  wonder,  and  something  like  a 
new  and  thrilling  delight.  He  puffed  out 
great  volumes  of  smoke,  making  his  pipe 
wheeze  audibly  under  the  vigor  of  his  draughts. 
He  was  certainly  excited. 

"Orful  joke  the  boys  '11  have  on  me  arter 
this,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  Wonder  if 
the  'oman's  the  feller's  wife?  Monstrous 
poorty,  shore's  yer  born !" 

He  soon  whittled  up  one  stick.  He  imme- 
diately dived  for  another,  this  time  getting 
hold  of  a  walnut  knot.  A  tough  thing  to 
whittle,  but  he  attacked  it  as  if  it  had  been  a 
bit  of  white  pine.  Soon  after  this  'Squire  Tad- 
more's  little  boy  came  running  down  from  his 
father's  office  to  where  Big  Medicine  stood. 

"  Mr.  Big  Medicine,"  cried  he,  all  out  of 
breath,  "that  'ere  man  what  bought  the  ole 
house  wants  to  see  you  partic'ler!" 

"  Mischief  he  does  !     Tell  'im  to  go  to ; 

no,  wait  a  bit.    Guess  I'll  go  tell  'im  myself." 

And,  so  saying,  he  moved  at  a  slashing 
pace  down  to  the  door  of  the  'Squire's  office. 
He  thrust  his  great  hirsute  head  inside  the 
room,  and  glaring  at  the  mild  mannered 
strauger,  said : 

"D'ye  want  to  see  me?" 


60  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

Mr.Goldiug  got  up  from  his  seat  and  coming 
out  took  Big  Medicine  familiarly  by  the  arm, 
meanwhile  smiling  in  the  most  friendly  way. 

"  Come  one  side  a  little,  I  wish  to  speak 
with  you  privately,  confidentially." 

Big  Medicine  went  rather  sulkily  along. 
When  they  had  gone  some  distance  from  the 
house  Mr.  Golding  lifted  his  spectacles  from 
his  nose,  and  turning  his  calm,  smiling  eyes 
full  upon  those  of  Big  Medicine,  said,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  finely  cut  shoulders : 

u  I  outbid  you  a  little,  my  friend,  but  I'm 
blessed  if  I  haven't  got  myself  into  a  ridiculous 
scrape  on  accouut  of  it." 

u  How  so  f  growled  Big  Medicine. 

"  Why,  when  I  come  to  count  my  funds  I'm 
short  a  half  dollar." 

"  You're  *batF 

u  I  lack  just  a  half  dollar  of  having  enough 
money  to  pay  for  the  house,  and  I  thought  I'd 
rather  ask  you  to  loan  me  the  money  than  any- 
body else  here." 

Big  Medicine  stood  for  a  time  in  silence,  whit- 
tling away,  as  if  for  dear  life,  on  the  curly  knot. 
Dreamy  gusts  of  perfumed  heat  swept  by  from 
adjacent  clover  and  wheat  fields,  where  the 
blooms  hung  thick;  little  whirlwinds  played 
in  the  dust  at  their  feet  as  little  wThirlwinds  al- 


BIG  MEDICINE.  61 

ways  do  in  rammer ;  and  far  away,  faint,  and 
made  tenderly  musical  by  distance,  were  heard 
the  notes  of  a  country  dinner-horn.  Big  Medi- 
cine's ample  chest  swelled,  and  swelled,  and 
then  he  burst  at  the  mouth  with  a  mighty  bass 
laugh,  that  went  battling  and  echoing  round 
the  place.  Mr.  Golding  laugbed  too,  in  his  own 
quiet,  gentlemanly  way.  They  looked  at  each 
other  and  laughed,  then  looked  off  toward  the 
swamps  and  laughed.  Big  Medicine  put  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  almost  up  to  the  elbows, 
and  leaned  back  and  laughed  out  of  one  corner 
of  his  mouth  while  holding  his  pipe  in  the  other. 

"  I  say,  mister,"  said  he  at  length,  "a'n't  you 
railly  got  but  six  hundred  and  twenty-five  an' 
a  half  r 

"  Just  that  much  to  a  cent,  and  no  more," 
replied  Mr.  Golding,  with  a  comical  smile  and 
bow. 

Big  Medicine  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
gave  the  walnut  knot  he  had  dropped  a  little 
kick  and  guffawed  louder  and  longer  than  be- 
fore. To  have  been  off  at  a  little  distance 
watching  them  would  have  convinced  any  one 
that  Mr.  Golding  was  telling  some  rare  anec- 
dote, and  that  Big  Medicine  was  convulsed 
with  mirth,  listening. 

u  Well  I'm  derued  if  taint  quare,"  cried  the 
6 


62  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSTER  MOSAICS. 

latter,  wringing  himself  into  all  sorts  of  gro- 
tesque attitudes  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  amuse- 
ment. "  You  outbid  me  half  a  dollar  and  then 
didn't  have  the  half  a  dollar  neither !  Wha, 
wha,  wha-ee !"  and  his  cachinnations  sounded 
like  rolling  of  moderate  thunder. 

At  the  end  of  this  he  took  out  a  greasy  wal- 
let and  paid  Mr.  Golding  the  required  amount 
in  silver  coin.  His  chagrin  had  vanished  be- 
fore the  stranger's  quiet  way  of  making  friends. 

A  week  passed  over  Jimtown.  A  week  of 
as  rare  June  weather  as  ever  lingered  about 
the  cool  places  of  the  woods,  or  glimmered 
over  the  sweet  clover  fields  all  red  with  a  blush 
of  bloom,  where  the  field  larks  twittered  and 
the  buntings  chirped,  and  where  the  laden  bees 
rose  heavily  to  seek  their  wild  homes  in  the 
hollows  of  the  forests.  By  this  time  it  was 
generally  known  in  Jimtown  that  Mr.  Golding 
would  soon  receive  a  stock  of  goods  with  which 
to  open  a  "  store"  in  the  old  corner  brick ;  but 
Big  Medicine  knew  more  than  any  of  his  neigh- 
bors, for  he  and  Golding  had  formed  a  part- 
nership to  do  business  under  the  u  name  and 
style"  of  Cook  &  Golding. 

This  Abner  Golding  had  lately  been  a 
wealthy  retail  man  in  Cincinnati,  and  had  lost 
everything  by  the  sudden  suspension  of  a  bank 


BIG  MEDICINE.  63 

wherein  the  bulk  of  his  fortune  was  on  deposit. 
His  creditors  had  made  a  run  on  him  and  he 
had  been  able  to  save  just  the  merest  remnant 
of  his  goods,  and  a  few  hundred  dollars  in 
money.  Thus  he  came  to  Jimtown  to  begin 
life  and  business  anew. 

To  Big  Medicine  the  week  had  been  a  long 
one;  wliyj  it  would  not  be  easy  to  tell.  No 
doubt  there  had  come  a  turning  point  hi  his 
life.  In  those  days,  and  in  that  particular 
region,  to  be  a  4  store  keeper J  was  no  small 
honor.  But  Big  Medicine  acted  strangely. 
He  wandered  about,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  whistling  plaintive  tunes,  and  often 
he  was  seen  standing  out  before  the  old  corner 
brick,  gazing  up  at  one  of  the  vacant  windows 
where  pieces  of  broken  lattice  were  swaying 
in  the  wind.  At  such  times  he  muttered  softly 
to  himself : 

"  Therms  wher  I  fust  seed  the  gal." 
Four  big  road  wagons  (loaded  with  boxes), 
three  of  them  containing  the  merchandise  and 
one  the  scanty  household  furniture  of  Mr. 
Goldiug  and  his  daughter  Carrie,  came  rum- 
bling into  Jimtown.  Big  Medicine  was  on 
hand,  a  perfect  Hercules  at  unloading  and  un- 
packing. Mr.  Goldiug  was  sadly  pleasant; 
Carrie  was  roguishly  observant,  but  womanly 
and  quiet. 


64  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

The  tallow-faced  youth  and  two  or  three 
others  stood  by  watching  the  proceedings.  The 
former  occasionally  made  a  remark  at  which 
the  others  never  failed  to  laugh. 

"Ef  ye'll  notice,  now,"  said  he,  "  it's  a  fac  'at 
whenever  Big  Medicine  goes  to  make  a  big 
surge  to  lift  a  box,  he  fust  takes  a  peep  at  the 
gal,  an'  that  'ere  seems  to  kinder  make  'ira 
'wax  strong  an'  multiply,'  as  the  preacher 
says,  an'  then  over  goes  the  box!" 

u  Has  a  awful  effect  on  his  narves,"  some 
one  replied. 

"  I'm  a  thinkin',"  added  tallow-face,  "  'at  ef 
Big  Medicine  happens  to  look  at  the  gal  about 
the  time  he  goes  to  make  a  trade,  it  '11  have 
sich  a  power  on  'im  'at  he'll  sell  a  yard  o'  cali- 
ker  for  nigh  onto  forty  dollars !" 

uEr  a  blanket  overcoat  for  'bout  twelve  an' 
a  half  cents !"  put  in  another. 

"I'm  kinder  weakly,"  resumed  tallow-face 
with  a  comical  leer  at  Big  Medicine ;  u  wonder 
if  't  wouldn't  be  kinder  strengthnin'  on  me  ef 
I'd  kinder  sidle  up  towards  the  gal  myself?" 

"I'll  sidle  up  to  you!"  growled  Big  Medi- 
cine; and  making  two  strides  of  near  ten  feet 
each,  he  took  the  youth  by  his  faded  flaxen 
hair,  and  holding  him  clear  of  the  ground,  ad- 
ministered a  half  dozen  or  so  of  resounding 


BIO  MEDICINE.  65 

kicks,  then  tossed  liim  to  one  side,  where  he 
fell  in  a  heap  on  the  ground.  When  he  got  on 
his  feet  again  he  began  to  bristle  up  and  show 
light,  but  when  Big  Medicine  reached  for  him 
he  ambled  off. 

In  due  time  the  goods  were  all  placed  on  the 
shelves  and  Mr.  Golding's  household  furniture 
arranged  in  the  upper  rooms  where  he  pur- 
posed living,  Carrie  acting  as  housekeeper. 

On  the  first  evening  after  all  things  had  been 
put  to  rights,  Mr.  Golding  said  to  Big  Medi- 
cine: 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  to  advertise." 

"Do  how?" 

"  Advertise." 

"  Sartiuly,"  said  Big  Medicine,  having  not 
the  faintest  idea  of  what  his  partner  meant. 

"  Who  can  we  get  to  paint  our  fence  adver- 
tisements ?" 

A  gleam  of  intelligence  shot  from  Big  Medi- 
cine's eyes.  He  knew  now  what  was  wanted. 
He  remembered  once,  on  a  visit  to  Crawfords- 
ville,  seeing  these  fence  advertisements.  He 
comprehended  in  a  moment. 

"  O,  I  know  what  ye  mean,  now,"  he  said, 

with  a  grin,  as  if  communing  with  himself  on 

some  novel  suggestion.     "  I  guess  I  kin  'tend 

to  that  my  own  self.  The  moon  shiues  to-night, 

'don't  it?"  6* 


66  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"Yes;  whyf' 

"  I'll  do  the  paintin'  to-night.  A  good  ijee 
has  jist  struck  me.  You  jist  leave  ifc  all  to  me." 

So  the  thing  was  settled,  and  Big  Medicine 
was  gone  all  night. 

The  next  day  was  a  sluice  of  rain.  It  poured 
incessantly  from  daylight  till  dark.  Big  Med- 
icine sat  on  the  counter  in  the  corner  brick 
and  chuckled.  His  thoughts  were  evidently 
very  pleasant  ones.  Mr.  Golding  was  busy 
marking  goods  and  Carrie  was  helping  him. 
The  great  grey  eyes  of  Big  Medicine  followed 
the  winsome  girl  all  the  time.  When  night 
came,  and  she  went  up  stairs,  he  said  to 
Golding  : 

u  That  gal  o'  your'n  is  a  mighty  smart  little 
?oman." 

"  Yes,  and  she's  all  I  have  left,"  replied  Mr. 
Golding  in  a  sad  tone. 

Big  Medicine  stroked  his  brown  beard,  whist- 
led a  few  turns  of  a  jig  tune,  and,  jumping 
down  from  the  counter,  went  out  into  the  driz- 
zly night.  A  few  rods  from  the  house  he  turned 
and  looked  up  at  the  window.  A  little  form 
was  just  vanishing  from  it. 

u  Ther's  wher  I  fust  seed  the  gal,"  he  mur- 
mured, then  turned  and  went  his  way,  occupied 
with  strange,  sweet  imaginings.    As  a  matter 


BIG  MEDICINE.  G7 

of  the  merest  conjecture,  it  is  interesting  to 
dwell  upon  the  probable  turn  taken  by  his 
thoughts  as  he  slowly  stalked  through  the 
darkness  and  rain  that  night ;  but  I  shall  not 
trench  on  what,  knowing  all  that  I  do,  seems 
sanctified  and  hallowed.  It  would  be  breaking 
a  sacred  confidence.  Who  has  stood  and 
watched  for  a  form  at  a  window!  Who  has 
expressed,  in  language  more  refined,  to  the 
inner  fountain  of  human  sympathy,  the  idea 
conveyed  in  the  rough  fellow's  remark  ?  Who 
that  has,  let  him  recall  the  time  and  the  place 
holy  in  his  memory. 

"  Ther's  wher  I  fust  seed  the  gal,"  said  the 
man,  and  went  away  to  his  lonely  bed  to  dream 
the  old  new  dream.  All  night  the  rain  fell, 
making  rich  music  on  the  roof  and  pouring 
through  his  healthy  slumber  a  sound  like 
the  flowing  of  strange  rivers  in  a  land  of  new 
delights— a  land  into  which  he  had  strayed 
hand  in  hand  with  some  one,  the  merest  touch 
of  whose  hand  was  rapture,  the  simplest  utter- 
ance of  whose  voice  was  charming  beyond 
expression.  The  old  new  dream.  The  dream 
of  flesh  that  is  divine— the  vision  of  blood 
that  is  love's  wine— the  apocalypse  that  bewil- 
dered the  eyes  of  the  old  singer  when  from 
a  flower  of  foam  in  the  sweet  green  sea  rose 


68  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

the  Cytherean  Yeims.    We  have  all  dreamed 
the  dream  and  found  it  sweet. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  no  fence  advertise- 
ments ever  paid  as  well,  or  stirred  up  as  big  a 
"  muss  "  as  those  painted  by  Big  Medicine  on 
the  night  mentioned  heretofore.  As  an  artist 
our  Hoosier  was  not  a  genius,  but  he  certainly 
understood  how  to  manufacture  a  notoriety. 
If  space  permitted  I  would  copy  all  those  rude 
notices  for  your  inspection ;  but  I  must  be  con- 
tent with  a  few  random  specimens  taken  from 
memory,  with  an  eye  to  brevity.  They  are 
characteristic  of  the  man  and  in  somewhat  an 
index  of  the  then  state  of  society  in  and 
around  Jimtown.  On  Deacon  Jones's  fence 
was  scrawled  the  following :  "  Dern  yer  ole 
sole,  ef  yer  want  good  Koffy  go  to  Cook  & 
Golding's  nu  stoar." 

John  Butler,  a  nice  old  quaker,  had  the 
following  daubed  on  his  gate :  "  Yu  thievin' 
duk-legged  ya  and  na  ole  cuss,  ef  the  sperit 
muves  ye,  go  git  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat 
at  Cook  &  Golding's  great  stand  at  Jimtown/' 
The  side  of  William  Smith's  pig  pen  bore 
this:  "  Bill,  ye  ornery  sucker,  come  traid  with 
Cook  &  Golding  at  the  ole  corner  brick  in  Jim- 
town."  Old  Peter  Gurley  found  writing  to  the 
following  effect  on  his  new  wagon  bed :   "  Ef 


BIG  MEDICINE.  69 

yoor  dri  or  anything,  you'll  find  a  virtoous  Kag 
ot'ri  licker  at  Cook  &  Golding's."  On  a  large 
plank  nailed  to  a  tree  at  Canaan's  Cross  Eoads 
all  passers  by  saw  the  following :  "  Git  up 
an  brindle !  Here's  yer  ole  and  faithful  mewl ! 
Come  in  gals  and  git  yer  dofunny  tricks  and 
fixens,  hats,  caps,  bonnets,  parrysols,  silk 
petty-coat-sleeves  and  other  inducements  too 
noomerous  too  menshen !  Eip  in — we're  on  it! 
Call  at  Cook  &  Golding's  great  corner  brick !" 

These  are  fair  specimens  of  what  appeared 
everywhere.  How  one  man  could  have  done 
so  much  in  one  night  remains  a  mystery.. 
Some  people  swore,  some  threatened  to  prose- 
cute, but  finally  everybody  went  to  the  corner 
brick  to  trade.  Jimtown  became  famous  on 
account  of  Big  Medicine  and  the  corner  brick 
store. 

The  sun  rose  through  the  morning  gate  be- 
yond the  quagmires  east  of  Jimtown  and  set 
through  the  evening  gate  past  the  ponds  and 
maple  swamps  to  the  west.  The  winds  blew 
and  there  were  days  of  calm.  The  weather 
ran  through  its  mutations  of  heat  and  cold. 
The  herons  flew  over,  the  blue  birds  twittered 
and  went  away  and  came  again,  and  the  pee- 
wees  disappeared  and  returned.  A  whole  year 
had  rolled  round  and  it  was  June  again,  with 


70  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

the  air  full  of  rumors  about  the  building  of  a 
railroad  through  Jimtown. 

During  this  flow  of  time  Big  Medicine  had 
feasted  his  eyes  on  the  bright  curls  and  bright- 
er eyes  of  Carrie  Golding,  till  his  heart  had  be- 
come tender  and  happy  as  a  child's.  They 
rarely  conversed  more  than  for  him  to  say, 
"  Miss  Carrie,  look  there,"  or  for  her  to  call  out, 
"Please,  Mr.  Cook,  hand  me  down  this  bolt  of 
muslin."    But  Big  Medicine  was  content. 

It  was  June  the  8th,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  Big  Medicine  was  slowly  making 
his  way  from  his  comfortable  bachelor's  cabin 
to  the  corner  brick.  A  peculiar  smile  was  on 
his  face,  his  heart  was  fluttering  strangely, 
and  all  on  account  of  a  little  circumstance  of 
the  preceding  day,  now  fresh  in  his  memory. 
Great  boy  that  he  was,  he  was  poring  over  a 
single  sweet  smile  Carrie  Goldiug  had  given 
him! 

The  mail  hack  stood  at  the  post-office  door, 
whence  Mr.  Goldiug  was  coming  with  a  letter 
in  his  hand.  Big  Medicine  stopped  and  looked 
np  at  the  window.  There  stood  Carrie.  She 
was  looking  hopefully  toward  her  father.  Big 
Medicine  smiled  and  murmured  : 

"  Ther's  wher  I  fust  seed  the  gal— bless  her 
sweet  soul !"  There  was  a  whole  world  of  sin- 
cere happiness  in  the  tones  of  his  voice. 


BIG  MEDICINE.  71 

Mr.  Golding  passed  him  hastily,  his  green 
spectacles  on  his  nose,  aud  a  great  excitement 
flashing  from  his  face.  Big  Medicine  gazed 
wonderingly  after  his  partner  till  he  saw  him 
run  up  stairs  to  Carrie's  room.  Then  he  thought 
he  heard  Carrie-  cry  out  joyfully,  but  it  may 
have  been  the  wind. 

When  an  hour  had  passed  Mr.  Golding  and 
Carrie  came  down  dressed  for  travelling. 
How  strangely,  wondrously  beautitul  the  girl 
now  looked !  Mr.  Golding  was  as  nervous  as 
an  old  woman.  He  rubbed  his  thin  white 
hands  together  rapidly  and  said : 

u  Mr.  Cook,  I  have  glorious  news  this  morn- 
ing!" 

"  And  what  mought  it  be  V  asked  Big  Medi- 
cine, as  a  damp  chilliness  crept  over  him,  and 
his  face  grew  pinched  and  almost  as  white  as 
his  shirt  bosom. 

"Krofton  &  Kelly,  the  bankers,  have  re- 
sumed payment,  and  Til  get  all  my  money! 
It  is  glorious  news,  is  it  not,  my  friend  VJ 

Big  Medicine  was  silent.  He  tried  to  speak, 
but  his  mouth  was  dry  and  powerless.  A 
mist  drifted  across  his  eyes.  He  hardly  real- 
ized where  he  was  or  what  was  said,  but  he 
knew  all. 

"  I  have  concluded  to  give  you  this  house  and 


72  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

all  my  interest  in  this  store.  You  must  not 
refuse.  I  haven't  time  to  make  the  transfer 
now,  but  HI  not  neglect  it.  Carrie  and  I  must 
hasten  at  once  to  Cincinnati.  The  hack  is 
waiting;  so  good  bye,  my  dear  friend,  God 
bless  you  !"  Mr.  Golding  wrung  his  partner's 
cold,  limp  hand,  without  noticing  how  fearfully 
haggard  that  Roman  face  had  suddenly  grown. 

"  Good  bye,  Mr.  Cook,"  said  Carrie  in  her 
sweet,  sincere  way.  "  I'm  real  sorry  to  leave 
you  and  the  dear  old  house — but — but — good 
bye,  Mr.  Cook.  Come  to  see  us  in  Cincinnati. 
Good  bye."    She  gave  him  her  hand  also. 

He  smiled  a  wan,  flickering  smile,  like  the 
last  flare  of  a  fire  whose  fuel  is  exhausted. 
Carrie's  woman's  heart  sank  under  that  look, 
though  she  knew  not  wherefore. 

The  hack  passed  round  the  curve  of  the 
road. 

They  were  gone ! 

Big  Medicine  stood  alone  in  the  door  of  the 
corner  brick.  He  looked  back  over  his  shoul- 
ders at  the  well  filled  shelves  and  muttered : 

"  She  ain't  here,  and  what  do  I  want  of  the 
derned  old  store  f 

The  wind  rustled  the  elm  leaves  and  tossed 
the  brown  locks  of  the  man  over  his  great  fore- 
head; the  blue  birds  sang  on  the  roof;  the 


BIG  MEDICINE.  73 

dust  rose  in  little  columns  along  the  street; 
and,  high  over  head,  in  the  yellow  mist  of  the 
fine  June  weather,  sailed  a  great  blue  heron, 
going  to  the  lakes.  Big  Medicine  felt  like  one 
deserted  in  the  wilderness.  He  stood  there  a 
while,  then  closed  and  locked  the  door  and 
went  into  the  woods.  A  month  passed  before 
he  returned.  Jim  town  wondered  and  won- 
dered. But  when  he  did  return  his  neighbors 
could  not  get  a  word  out  of  him.  He  was 
silent,  moody,  listless.  Where  had  he  been  ? 
Only  hunting  for  Mr.  Golding  and  Carrie.  He 
found  them,  after  a  long  search,  in  a  splendid 
residence  on  the  heights  just  out  of  Cincinnati. 
Mr.  Golding  greeted  him  cordially,  but  some- 
how Big  Medicine  felt  as  though  he  were 
shaking  hands  with  some  one  over  an  insur- 
mountable barrier.  That  was  not  the  Mr. 
Golding  he  had  known. 

u  Carrie  is  out  in  the  garden.  She  will  be 
glad  to  see  you.  Go  along  the  hall  there. 
You  will  see  the  gate." 

Mr.  Golding  waved  his  hand  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  very  rich  man,  and  a  patronizing  tone 
would  creep  into  his  voice.  Somehow  Big 
Medicine  looked  terribly  uncouth. 

With  a  hesitating  step  and  a  heart  full  of 
unreal  sensations,  Big  Medicine  opened  the 
7 


74  A  BOOK   OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

little  gate  and  strode  into  the  flower  garden. 
Suddenly  a  vision,  such  as  his  fancy  had  never 
pictured,  burst  on  his  dazzled  eyes.  Flowers 
and  vines  and  statues  and  fountains ;  on  every 
hand  rich  colors;  perfumes  so  mixed  and  in- 
tensified that  his  senses  almost  gave  way; 
long  winding  walks;  fairy-like  bowers  and 
music.  He  paused  and  listened.  A  heavy 
voice,  rich  and  manly,  singing  a  ballad— some 
popular  love  song— to  the  sweet  accompani- 
ment of  a  violin,  and  blended  through  it  all, 
like  a  silvery  thread,  the  low  sweet  voice  of 
Carrie  Goldiug.  The  poor  fellow  held  his 
breath  till  the  song  was  done. 

Two  steps  forward  and  Big  Medicine  tow- 
ered above  the  lovers. 

Carrie  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  startled 
cry;  then,  recognizing  the  intruder,  she  held 
out  her  little  hand  and  welcomed  him.  Turn- 
ing to  her  lover  she  said : 

"  Henry,  this  is  Mr.  Cook,  lately  papa's 
partner  in  Indiana." 

The  lover  was  a  true  gentleman,  so  he  took 
the  big  hard  hand  of  the  visitor  and  said  he 
was  glad  to  see  him. 

Big  Medicine  stood  for  a  few  moments  hold- 
ing a  hand  of  each  of  the  lovers.  Presently  a 
tremor  took  possession  of  his  burly  frame. 
He  did  not  speak  a  word.    His  breast  swelled 


BIG  MEDICINE.  75 

and  his  face  grew  awfully  white.  He  put 
Clinic's  hand  in  that  of  her  lover  and  turned 
away.  As  he  did  so  a  tear,  a  great  bitter  drop, 
rolled  down  his  haggard  cheek.  A  few  long 
strides  and  Big  Medicine  was  gone. 

Shrilly  piped  the  blue  birds,  plaintively  sang 
the  peewees,  sweetly  through  the  elms  and 
burr  oaks  by  the  corner  brick  blew  the  fresh 
summer  wind,  as,  just  at  sunset,  Big  Medicine 
once  more  stood  in  front  of  the  old  building 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  vacant,  staring  win- 
dow. 

It  was  scarcely  a  minute  that  he  stood 
there,  but  long  enough  for  a  tender  outline  of 
the  circumstances  of  the  past  year  to  rise  in 
his  memory. 

A  rustling  at  the  broken  lattice,  a  sudden 
thrill  through  the  iron  frame  of  the  watching 
man,  a  glimpse  of  a  sweet  face— no,  it  was 
only  a  fancy.  The  house  was  still,  and  old  and 
desolate.    It  stared  at  him  like  a  death's  head. 

Big  Medicine  raised  his  eyes  toward  heaven, 
which  was  now  golden  and  flashing  respleud- 
ently  with  sunset  glories.  High  up,  as  if 
almost  touching  the  calm  sky,  a  great  blue 
heron  was  toiling  heavily  westward.  Taking 
the  course  chosen  by  the  lone  bird,  Big  Medi- 
cine went  away,  and  the  places  that  knew  him 
once  know  him  no  more  forever. 


^HE  YENOS  OF  $ALHINCH. 


When  I  returned  from  Europe  with  a  fin- 
ished education,  I  found  that  my  fortune  also 
was  finished  in  the  most  approved  modern 
style,  so  I  left  New  York  and  drifted  westward 
in  search  of  employment.  At  length  I  came 
to  Indiana,  and,  having  not  even  a  cent  left, 
and  mustering  but  one  presentable  suit  of 
clothes,  I  looked  about  me  in  a  hungry,  half 
desperate  sort  of  way,  till  I  pounced  upon  the 
school  in  Balhinch.  Now  Balhinch  is  not  a 
town,  nor  a  cross-road  place,  nor  a  post-office 
— it  is  simply  a  neighborhood  in  the  southwest- 
ern corner  of  Union  Township,  Montgomery 
County — a  neighborhood  sui  generis,  stowed 
away  in  the  breaks  of  Sugar  Creek,  containing 
as  good,  quiet,  law-abiding  folk  as  can  be  found 
anywhere  outside  of  Switzerland.  My  school 
was  a  small  one  in  numbers,  but  the  pupils 
ranged  from  four  to  six  feet  three  in  altitude, 
and  well  proportioned.  The  most  advanced 
class  had  thumbed  along  pretty  well  through 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHINCH.  77 

the  spelling  book.  I  need  not  take  up  your 
time  with  the  school,  however,  for  it  has  noth- 
ing at  all  to  do  with  my  story,  excepting  merely 
to  explain  how  I  came  to  be  in  Balhinch,  in  the 
State  of  Indiana. 

My  first  sight  of  Susie  Adair  was  on  Sunday 
at  the  Methodist  praj*er  meeting.  I  was  sit- 
ting with  my  back  to  a  window  and  facing  the 
door  of  the  log  meeting  house  when  she  en- 
tered. It  was  July — a  hot  glary  day,  but  a 
steady  wind  blew  cool  and  sweet  from  the 
southwest,  bringing  in  all  sorts  of  woodland 
odors.  The  grasshoppers  were  chirruping  in 
the  little  timothy  field  hard  by,  and  over  in  a 
bit  of  woodland  pasture  a  swarm  of  blue  jays 
were  worrying  a  crow,  keeping  up  an  incessant 
squeaking  aud  chattering.  The  dumpy  little 
class  leader— the  only  little  man  in  Balhinch 
— had  just  begun  to  give  out  the  hymn 

"  Love  is  the  sweetest  bud  that  blows, 

Its  beauties  never  die, 
On  earth  among  the  saints  it  grows 

And  ripens  in  the  sky,"  &c., 

when  Susie  came  in.    Ben  Crane  was  sitting 
by  me.    He  nudged  me  with  his  elbow  and 
'  whispered : 

"  How's  that  'ere  for  poorty  ?" 
I  made  him  no  answer,  but  remained  staring 
7* 


78  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

at  the  girl  till  long  after  she  had  taken  her  seat. 
Nature  plays  strange  tricks.  Susie,  the  daugh- 
ter of  farmer  Adair,  was  as  beautiful  in  the 
face  as  any  angel  could  be,  and  her  form  was 
as  perfect  as  that  of  the  Onidian  Venus.  Her 
motion  when  she  walked  was  music,  and  as 
she  sat  in  statuesque  repose,  the  undulations 
of  her  queenly  form  were  those  of  perfect  ease, 
grace  and  strength.  Her  hands  were  small 
and  taper,  a  little  browned  from  exposure,  as 
was  also  her  face.  Her  hair  was  the  real  classic 
gold,  and  her  grey  eyes  were  riant  with  health 
and  content.  When  her  red  lips  parted  to  sing, 
they  discovered  small  even  teeth,  as  white 
as  ivory.  I  can  give  you  no  idea  of  her. 
Physically  she  was  perfection's  self  in  the 
mould  of  a  Yenus  of  the  grandest  type.  Her 
head,  too,  was  an  intellectual  one  (though 
feminine),  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word.  The 
first  thought  that  flashed  across  my  mind  was 
embodied  in  the  words — A  Venus — and  I  still 
thiuk  of  her  as  the  best  model  I  ever  saw. 

u  How's  that  for  poorty  F  repeated  Crane. 

"  Who  is  she  F  I  replied  interrogatively. 

u  She's  my  jewlarker,"  said  he. 

"Your  what  V 

"My  sweetheart." 

"  What  is  her  name  F 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHINCH.  79 

u  Susie  Adair." 

So  I  came  to  know  her  and  admire  her,  and 
even  before  tbat  little  prayer  meeting  was  over 
I  loved  ber.  Introductions  were  an  unknown 
institution  in  Balhinch,  but  I  was  not  long  in 
finding  a  way  to  the  personal  acquaintance  of 
Susie.  I  found  ber  remarkably  intelligent  for 
one  of  ber  limited  opportunities,  very  fond  of 
reading,  sprightly  in  conversation,  womanly, 
modest,  sweet  tempered,  and,  indeed,  alto- 
gether charming  as  well  as  superbly  beautiful. 

As  for  me,  I  am  an  insignificant  looking  man, 
and  then  I  was  even  more  so  than  now.  My 
hair  is  terribly  stiff  and  red,  you  know,  and 
my  eyes  are  very  pale  blue,  nearly  white.  My 
neck  is  very  long  and  has  a  large  Adam's 
apple.  I  am  small  and  narrow  chested,  and  have 
slender  bow  legs.  My  teeth  are  uneven  and 
my  nose  is  pug.  I  have  a  very  fine  thin  voice, 
decidedly  nasal,  as  you  perceive.  One  thing, 
however,  I  am  well  educated,  polite,  and  not  a 
bad  conversationalist. 

Susie  was  a  most  entertaining  and  perplex- 
ing study  for  me  from  the  start.  She  treated 
me  with  decided  consideration  and  kindness, 
seemed  deeply  interested  in  my  accounts  of  my 
travels,  asked  me  many  questions  about  the 
old  world  and  good  society,  sat  for  hours  at  a 


80  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIEK  MOSAICS. 

time  listening  to  me  as  I  read  aloud.  In  fact 
I  felt  that  I  was  impressing  her  deeply,  but  she 
would  go  with  Ben  Crane,  that  long,  awk- 
ward, ignorant  gawk.  How  could  a  young 
woman  of  such  line  magnetic  presence,  and  en- 
dowed with  such  genuine,  instinctive  purity  of 
taste  in  everything  else,  bear  the  presence  of  a 
rough  greenhorn  like  that  ?  Finally  I  said  to 
myself:  she  is  kind  and  good 5  she  cannot 
bear  to  slight  Ben,  though  she  cares  nothing 
for  him. 

What  a  strange  state  being  in  love  is !  It  is 
like  dreaming  in  the  grass.  One  hears  the 
How  of  the  wind — it  is  the  breath  of  love — one 
smells  the  flowers,  and  it  is  the  perfume  of  a 
young  cheek,  the  sharp  fragrance  of  blonde 
curls.  What  dreams  I  had  in  those  days  !  I 
could  scarcely  endure  my  school  to  the  end  of 
the  first  three  months.  Then  I  gave  it  up,  and 
collecting  my  wages  purchased  me  some  fine 
clothes — that  is,  fine  for  the  time  and  the  place. 
I  recollect  that  suit  now,  and  wonder  how  a 
man  of  my  taste  could  have  borne  to  wear  it. 
A  black  coat,  a  scarlet  vest  and  white  pants, 
ending  with  calf  boots  and  a  very  tall  silk  hat ! 
If  you  should  see  me  dressed  that  way  now 
you  would  laugh  till  your  ribs  would  hurt.  I 
do  not  know  how  true  it  is,  but,  from  a  pretty 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHINCH.  81 

good  source,  I  heard  that  Ben  Crane  said  I 
looked  like  a  red-headed  woodpecker.  One 
thing  I  do  know,  I  never  saw  a  woodpecker 
with  a  freckled  face.    I  have  a  freckled  face. 

Ben  soon  recognized  me  as  his  rival  and 
treated  me  with  supreme  impertinence,  even 
going  so  far  as  to  rub  his  fist  under  my  nose 
and  swear  at  me — a  thing  at  which  I  felt  pro- 
foundly indignant,  and  considering  which  I 
was  surely  justified  in  sticking  a  lucifer  match 
into  Ben's  six  valuable  hay  stacks  one  night 
thereafter.  It  was  a  great  fire,  and  two  hundred 
dollars  loss  to  Ben.  Let  him  keep  his  fist  out 
from  under  my  nose. 

But  I  must  come  to  my  story,  cutting  short 
these  preliminaries.  It  is  a  story  I  never  tire 
of  telling,  and  a  story  which  has  elicited  ejacu- 
lations from  many. 

It  was  a  ripe  sweet  day  in  the  latter  part  of 
September — clear,  but  hazy  and  dreamful — a 
prelude  to  the  Indian  summer.  I  stood  before 
the  glass  in  my  room  at  'Squire  Jones's,  where 
I  boarded,  and  very  carefully  arranged  my 
bright  blue  neck-tie.  Then  I  combed  my  hair. 
I  never  have  got  thoroughly  familiar  with  my 
hair.  I  cannot,  even  now,  comb  it,  while  look- 
ing in  a  glass,  without  cringing  for  fear  of 
burning  my  fingers.    The  long,  wavy  red  locks 


82  A  EOOK  OF  HOOSrER  MOSAICS. 

flow  through  the  comb  like  flames,  and  under- 
neath is  a  gleam  of  live  coals  and  red  hot 
ashes.  Ben  Crane  said  he  believed  my  head 
had  set  his  hay  stacks  a -fire.  Maybe  it  did. 
I  wished  that  a  stray  flash  from  the  same  source 
would  kindle  the  heart  of  Susie  Adair  and 
heat  it  until  it  lay  under  her  Oythereau 
breasts  a  paddle  of  molten  love.  I  put  my 
silk  hat  carefully  upon  my  head  and  wriggled 
my  hands  iuto  a  pair  of  kid  gloves ;  then, 
walking-stick  in  hand,  I  set  out  to  know  my 
fate  at  the  hands  of  Susie.  My  way  was  across 
a  stubble  field  in  which  the  young  clover,  sown 
in  the  spring,  displayed  itself  in  a  variety  of 
fantastic  modes.  Have  you  ever  noticed  how 
much  grass  is  like  water?  Some  one,  Haw- 
thorne, perhaps,  has  spoken  of  "a  gush  of 
violets,"  and  Swinburne,  going  into  one  of  his 
musical  frenzies,  cries : 

"  Where  tides  of  grass  break  into  foam  of  flowers." 

I  have  seen  pools  of  clover  and  streams  of 
timothy;  I  have  stood  ankle  deep  in  shoal 
blue  grass  and  have  watched  for  hours  the 
liquid  ripples  of  the  red  top.  I  have  seen  the 
field  sparrows  dive  into  the  green  waves  of 
young  wheat,  and  the  black  starlings  wade 
about  in  the  sink-foil  of  southern  countries. 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHINCH.  83 

Grass  is  a  liquid  that  washes  earth's  face  till 
it  shines  like  that  of  a  clean,  healthy  child. 
But  clover  prefers  to  stand  in  pools  and 
eddies,  in  which  oft  and  oft  I  have  seen  the 
breasts  of  meadow  larks  shine  like  gold,  the 
while  a  few  sweet  notes,  like  rung  silver,  rose 
and  trembled  above  the  trefoil,  all  woven,  in 
and  out,  through  the  swash  of  the  wind's  pal- 
pitant currents— a  music  of  unspeakable  in- 
fluence. Swallows  skim  the  surface  of  grass 
just  as  they  do  that  of  water.  When  the  sum- 
mer air  agitates  the  smooth  bosom  of  a  broad 
green  meadow  field,  you  will  see  these  little 
random  arrows  glancing  along  the  emerald 
surface,  cutting  with  barbed  wings  through 
the  tossing,  bloom-capped  waves,  thence  ri- 
cochetting  high  into  the  bright  air  to  whirl 
and  fall  again  as  swiftly  as  before.  Many  a 
time  I  have  traced  streams  of  grass  to  their 
fresh  fountains,  where  jets  of  tender  foliage 
and  bubbles  of  tinted  flowers  welled  up  from 
dark,  rich  earth,  and  flowed  away,  with  a 
velvet  rustle  and  a  ripple  like  blown  floss,  to 
break  and  recoil  and  eddy  against  the  dark 
shadows  of  a  distant  grove.  Such  a  fountain 
is  a  place  of  fragrance  and  joy.  The  bees  go 
thither  to  get  the  sweetest  honey,  and  find  it 
a  very  Hybla.     The  butterflies  float  about  it 


84  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

in  a  dreamful  trance,  while  in  the  cool,  damp 
shade  of  a  dock  leaf  squats  a  great  toad,  like 
a  slimy  dragon  guarding  the  gate  of  a  paradise. 

As  I  slowly  walked  across  tbat  stubble  field, 
now  and  then  stepping  into  a  tuft  of  clover, 
out  from  which  a  quail  would  start,  whirling 
away  in  a  convulsion  of  flight,  I  allowed 
dreams  of  bliss  to  steal  rosily  across  my  brain. 
I  scarcely  saw  the  great  gold-sharded  beetles 
that  hummed  and  glanced  in  the  mellow  sun- 
light. I  heard  like  one  half  asleep,  as  if  far 
away,  the  sharp  twitter  of  the  blue  bird  and 
the  tender  piping  of  the  meadow  lark.  Susie 
Adair  was  all  my  thought.  I  recollect  that, 
just  as  I  climbed  the  fence  at  the  farther  side 
of  the  clover  field,  I  saw  a  white  winged,  red 
headed  woodpecker  pounce  upon  and  carry  off 
a  starry  opal- tinted  butterfly,  and  I  thought 
how  sweet  it  would  be  if  I  could  thus  steal 
away  into  the  free  regions  of  space  the  object 
of  my  gentler  passion.  But  then  what  wonder- 
ful big  wings  I  should  have  needed,  for  my 
Yenus  of  the  hollow  of  the  hill  of  Balhinch 
was  no  airy  thing.  Her  tall,  strong  body  and 
magnificent  limbs  equalled  one  hundred  and 
forty  pounds  avoirdupois!  My  own  weight 
was  about  one  hundred  and  twenty. 

As  I  neared  Susie's  home  I  began,  for  the 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHINCH.  85 

first  time  in  my  life,  to  suffer  from  palpitation. 
The  shadow  of  a  doubt  floated  in  the  autumn 
sun-light.  I  set  my  teeth  together  and  re- 
solved not  to  be  faint  hearted.  I  must  go  in 
boldly  and  plead  my  cause  and  win. 

When  I  reached  the  gate  of  the  Adair  farm- 
house I  had  to  look  straight  over  the  head  of 
a  very  large,  sanctimonious-faced  bull-dog  to 
get  a  view  of  the  vine  covered  porch.  This 
dog  looked  up  at  me  and  smiled  ineffably; 
then  he  came  to  the  gate  and  stood  over 
against  me,  peeping  between  the  slats.  I 
hesitated.  About  this  time  Ben  Crane  came 
out  of  the  house  with  a  banjo  in  his  hand. 
He  had  been  playing  for  Susie.  He  was  a 
natural  musician. 

"'Feared  o'  the  dog,  Mr.  Woodpecker?" 
said  he.  "  Begone,  Bull !"  and  he  kicked  the 
big-headed  canine  aside  so  that  I  could  go  in. 

I  heart!  him  thrumming  on  his  banjo  far 
down  the  road  as  Susie  met  me  at  the  door. 
How  wondrously  beautiful  she  was ! 

"  Sit  down  Mr.  ,  and,  if  you  do  not 

care,  I'll  bring  the  churn  in  and  finish  getting 
the  butter  while  we  talk." 

I  was  delighted — I  was  charmed— fascinated. 
Susie's  father  had  gone  to  a  distant  village, 
and  her  mother,  a  gentle  work-worn  matron, 

8 


86  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

was  in  the  other  room  spinning  flax,  humming, 
meantime,  snatches  of  camp  meeting  hymns. 
The  sound  of  that  spinning-wheel  seemed  to 
me  strangely  mournful  and  sad,  but  Susie's 
deep,  clear  gray  eyes  and  cheerful  voice  were 
the  very  soul  of  joyousness,  health  and  youth. 
She  brought  in  a  great  fragrant  cedar  churn, 
made  to  hold  six  or  eight  gallons  of  cream, 
and  forthwith  began  her  labor.  She  stood  as 
she  worked,  and  the  exercise  throwing  her 
entire  body  into  gentle  but  well-defined  motion, 
displayed  all  the  riches  of  her  contour.  The 
sleeves  of  her  calico  gown  were  rolled  up 
above  the  elbows,  leaving  her  plump,  muscular 
arms  bare,  and  her  skirt  was  pinned  away 
from  her  really  small  feet  and  shapely  ankles 
in  such  a  way  as  to  give  one  an  idea,  a  sug- 
gestion, of  supreme  innocence  and  grace.  Her 
long,  crinkled  gold  hair  was  unbound,  hanging 
far  below  her  waist,  and  shining  like  silk. 
Her  lips,  carmine  red,  seemed  to  overflow 
with  tender  utterances. 

Ever  since  that  day  I  have  thought  churn- 
ing a  kind  of  sacred,  charmingly  blessed  work, 
which  ought  to  be,  if  really  it  is  not,  the  pas- 
time of  those  delightful  beings  the  ancients 
called  deities.  Cream  is  more  fragrant,  more 
delicious,  more  potent  than  nectar  or  ambrosia:. 


THE  VENUS  OP  BALHINCH.  87 

A  cedar  churn  is  more  delicately  perfumed 
than  an y  patera  of  the  gods.  And,  I  say  it 
with  reverence,  I  have  seen,  swaying  lily-like 
above  the  churn,  a  beauty  more  perfect  than 
that  which  bloomed  full  grown  from  the  bright 
focus  of  the  sea's  ecstatic  travail. 

What  a  talk  Susie  and  I  had  that  day! 
Slowly,  stealthily  I  crept  nearer  and  nearer  to 
the  subject  burning  in  my  heart.  I  watched 
Susie  closely,  for  her  face  was  an  enigma  to 
me.  I  never  think  of  her  and  of  that  day 
without  recalling  Baudelaire's  dream  of  a 
giantess.  More  happy  than  the  poet,  I  really 
saw  my  colossal  beauty  stand  full  grown 
before  me,  but,  like  him,  I  wondered — 

*     *     *     '•  Si  son  cceur  couvo  uno  sombro  fiamme 
Aux  humides  brouillards  qui  nagent  dans  ses  yeux." 

I  could  not  tell,  from  any  outward  sign, 
what  was  going  on  in  her  heart.  No  sphinx 
could  have  been  more  utterly  calm  and  myste- 
rious. She  had  a  most  baffling  way  about  her, 
too.  When  at  last  I  had  reached  the  point  of  a 
confession  of  my  maddening  love,  she  broke 
into  one  of  my  charmingest  sentences  to  say — 

u  Mr. ,  you'd  better  move  farther  away 

from  the  churn  or  I  might  spatter  your 
clothes." 

This,  somehow,  disconcerted  and  bothered 


88  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

me.  But  Susie  was  so  calm  and  sweet  about 
it,  her  gray  eyes  beamed  so  mysteriously  inno- 
cent of  any  impropriety,  that  I  soon  regained 
my  lost  eloquence. 

How  sharply  and  indelibly  cut  in  my  mem- 
ory, like  intaglios  in  ivory,  the  surroundings 
of  that  scene,  even  to  the  minutest  detail! 
For  instance,  I  can  see  as  plainly  as  then  my 
new  silk  hat  on  the  floor  between  my  knees, 
containing  a  red  handkerchief  and  a  paper  of 
chewing  tobacco.  I  recall,  also,  that  a  slip- 
trod  shoe  lay  careened  to  one  side  near  the 
centre  of  the  room.  The  bull-dog  came  to  the 
door  and  peeped  solemnly  in  a  time  or  two. 
A  string  of  dried  pumpkin  cuts  hung  by  the 
fireplace,  and  under  a  small  wooden  table  in 
one  corner  were  piled  a  few  balls  of  "  carpet 
rags."  I  sat  in  a  very  low  chair.  A  picture 
of  George  Washington  hung  above  a  small 
square  window.  The  floor  was  ash  boards  un- 
carpeted.  I  heard  some  chickens  clucking  and 
cackling  under  the  house. 

Finally,  I  recollect  it  as  if  it  were  but  yes- 
terday, I  said : 

u  I  love  you,  Susie — I  love  you,  and  I  have 
loved  you  ever  since  I  first  saw  you  P 

How  tame  the  words  sound  now !  but  then 
they  came  forth  in  a  tremulous  murmur  that 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHTNCH.  89 

gave  them  character  and  power.  Susie  looked 
straight  at  me  a  moment,  and  I  thought  I  saw 
a  softer  light  gather  in  her  eyes.  Then  she 
took  away  the  churn  dasher  and  lid  and 
fetched  a  large  bowl  from  a  cupboard.  What 
a  fine  golden  pile  of  butter  she  fished  up  into 
the  bowl ! 

I  drew  my  chair  somewhat  nearer,  and 
watched  her  pat  and  roll  and  squeeze  the 
plastic  mass  with  the  cherry  ladle.  A  little 
gray  kitten  came  and  rubbed  and  purred 
round  her.  Again  the  bull-dog  peeped  in.  A 
breeze  gathered  some  force  and  began  to  rip- 
ple pleasantly  through  the  room.  Far  away 
in  the  fields  I  heard  the  quails  whistling  to 
each  other.  An  old  cow  strolled  up  the  lane 
by  the  house  and  round  the  corner  of  the 
orchard,  plaintively  tinkling  her  bell.  Stead- 
ily hummed  Mrs.  Adairs  spinning  wheel.  I 
slipped  my  hat  and  my  chair  a  little  closer  to 
Susie,  and  by  a  mighty  effort  directed  my 
burning  words  straight  to  the  point.  I  cannot 
repeat  all  I  said.  I  would  not  if  I  could. 
Such  things  are  sacred. 

"  Susie,  I  love  you,  madly,  blindly,  dearly, 
truly !  O,  Susie !  will  you  love  me — will  you 
be  my  wife  V1 

Again  she  turned  on  me  that  strange,  sweet, 
8» 


90  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

half  smiling  look.    Her  lips  quivered.    The 
flush  on  her  cheeks  almost  died  out. 

"Answer  me,  Susie,  and  say  you  will  make 
me  happy." 

She  Walked  to  the  cupboard,  put  away  the 
bowl  of  butter  and  the  ladle,  then  came  back 
and  stood  by  the  churn  and  me.     How  in- 
describably charming  she  looked !     She  smiled 
strangely  and  made  a  motion  with  her  round 
strong  arms.    I  answered  the  movement.    I 
spread  wide  my  arms  and  half  rose  to  clasp 
her  to  my  bosom.    A  whole  life  was  centred  in 
the  emotion  of  that  moment.     Susie's  arms 
missed  me  and  lifted  the  churn.    I  sank  back 
into  my  chair.    How  gracefully  Susie  swayed 
herself  to  her  immense  height,  toying  with  the 
ponderous  churn  held  far  above  her  head.    I 
saw  a  kitten  fairly  fly  out  of  the  room,  its  tail 
as  level  as  a  gun  barrel  j  I  saw  the  bull-dog's 
face  hastily  withdraw  from  the  door;  I  saw 
the  carpet  balls,  the  pumpkin  cuts  and  the 
print  of  Washington  all  through  a  perpendicu- 
lar cataract  of  deliciously  fragrant  buttermilk ! 
I  saw  my  hat  fill  up  to  the  brim,  with  my 
handkerchief  afloat.    I  heaved  an  awful  sigh 
and  leaped  to  my  feet.    I  saw  old  Mrs.  Adair 
standing  in  the  partition  door,  with  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  heard  her  say — 


THE  VENUS  OF  BALHINCH.  91 

"  Wy,  Susan  Jane  Samantha  Aim !  What 
'pon  airth  kev  ye  done  V 

And  the  Venus  replied  : 

u  I've  been  givin'  this  'ere  little  woodpecker 
a  good  dose  of  buttermilk !" 

I  seized  my  hat  and  shuffled  out  of  the  door, 
feeling  the  milk  gush  from  the  tops  of  my 
boots  at  each  hasty  step  I  made.  I  ran  to  the 
gate,  went  through  and  slammed  it  after  me. 
As  I  did  so  I  heard  a  report  like  the  closing  of 
a  strong  steel  trap.  It  was  the  bull-dog's 
teeth  shutting  ou  a  slat  of  the  gate  as  he  made 
a  dive  at  me  from  behind.  I  smiled  grimly, 
thinking  how  I'd  taste  served  in  buttermilk. 

On  my  way  home  I  passed  Ben  Crane's 
house.  He  was  sitting  at  a  window  playing 
his  baujo,  and  singing  in  a  stentorian  voice : 

"0!  Woodpecker  Jim, 
Yer  chance  is  mighty  slim  ! 
Jest  draw  yer  red  head  into  yer  hole 
And  there  die  easy,  dern  your  soul, 
0!  slim  Woodpecker  Jim!" 

I  was  so  mad  that  I  sweat  great  drops  of 
pure  buttermilk,  but  over  in  the  fields  the 
quails  whistled  just  as  clear  and  sweet  as  ever, 
and  1  heard  the  wind  pouring  through  the 
stubble  as  it  always  does  in  autumn ! 


'HE^EGEND  OF^OTATO  ^REEK. 


Big  yellow  butterflies  were  wheeling  about 
in  the  drowsy  summer  air,  and  hovering  above 
the  moist  little  sand  bars  of  Potato  Creek.  A 
shady  dell,  wrapped  in  the  hot  lull  of  August, 
sent  up  the  spires  and  domes  of  its  walnut  and 
poplar  trees,  clearly  defined  and  sheeny,  while 
underneath  the  forest  roof  the  hazel  and  wild 
rose  bushes  had  wrung  themselves  into  dusky 
mats.  The  late  violets  bloomed  here  and 
there,  side  by  side  with  those  waxlike  yellow 
blossoms,  called  by  the  country  folk  "butter 
and  eggs."  Through  this  dell  Potato  Creek 
meandered  fantastically,  washing  bare  the 
roots  of  a  few  gnarled  sycamores,  and  mur- 
muring among  the  small  bowlders  that  almost 
covered  its  bed.  It  was  not  a  strikingly 
romantic  or  picturesque  place — rather  the  con- 
trary— much  after  the  usual  type  of  ragged 
little  dells.  "  A  scrubby  little  holler  n  the  neigh- 
borhood folk  called  it. 


LEOEXD  OF  POTATO  CREEK.      93 

Perched  on  the  topmost  tangle  of  the  dry, 
tough  roots  of  an  old  upturned  tree,  sat  little 
Base  Turpiu,  sixteen  that  very  August  day ; 
pretty,  nay  beautiful,  her  school  life  just  end- 
ed, her  womanhood  just  beginning  to  clothe 
her  face  and  form  in  that  mysterious  mantle 
of  tenderness — the  blossom,  the  flower  that 
brings  the  rich  sweet  fruit  of  love.  From  her 
high  perch  she  leaned  over  and  gazed  down 
into  the  clear  water  of  the  creek  aud  smiled  at 
the  gambols  of  the  minnows  that  glanced  here 
and  there,  now  in  shadowy  swarms  aud  anon 
glancing  singly,  like  sparks  of  dull  fire,  in  the 
limpid  current.  Some  small  cray-fishes,  too, 
delighted  her  with  their  retrograde  and  side- 
wise  movements  among  the  variegated  pebbles 
at  the  bottom  of  the  water.  A  small  sketch 
book  and  a  case  of  pencils  lay  beside  her.  So 
busy  was  she  with  her  observations,  that  a 
fretful,  peevish,  but  decidedly  masculine  voice 
near  by  startled  her  as  if  from  a  doze.  She 
had  imagined  herself  so  utterly  alone. 

"  Wo-erp  'ere,  now  can't  ye !  Wo,  I  say ! 
Turn  yer  ole  head  roun'  this  way  now,  blast 
yer  ole  picter!  No  fooliu',  now;  wo-erp,  I  tell 
ye! 

Rose  was  so  frightened  at  first  that  she 
seemed  about  to  rise  in  the  air  and  fly  away ; 


94  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

but  her  quick  glance  iu  the  direction  of  the 
sound  discovered  the  speaker,  who,  a  few  rods 
farther  down  the  creek,  stood  holding  the 
halter  rein  of  a  forlorn  looking  horse  in  one 
hand,  and  in  the  other  a  heavy  woodman's 
axe. 

"Wo-erp,  now!  I  hate  like  the  nation  to 
slatherate  ye ;  but  I  said  I'd  do  it  if  ye  did'nt 
get  well  by  this  August  the  fifteenth;  an'  shore 
'nuff,  here  ye  are  with  the  fistleo  gittin'  wus 
and  was  every  day  o'  yer  life.  So  now  ye  may 
expect  ter  git  what  I  tole  ye  !  Stan'  still  now, 
will  ye,  till  I  knock  the  life  ont'n  ye !" 

By  this  time  Eose  had  come  to  understand 
the  features  of  the  situation.  The  horse  was 
sadly  diseased  with  that  scourge  of  the  equine 
race,  scrofulous  shoulder  or  fistula,  commonly 
called,  among  the  country  folk,  fistleo,  and 
because  the  animal  could  not  get  well  the  man 
was  on  the  point  of  killing  it  by  knocking  it  on 
the  head  with  the  axe. 

Of  all  dumb  things  a  horse  was  Hose's 
favorite.  She  had  always,  since  her  very  baby- 
hood, loved  horses. 

"  Wo-wo-wo-erp,  here!  Ha'n't  ye  got  no  sense 
at  alH  Ding  it,  how  d'ye  'spect  me  to  hit  yer 
blamed  ole  head  when  ye  keep  it  a  waggin' 
'round  in  that  sort  o'  style  I     Wo-erp  !" 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.  95 

The  fellow  had  tied  the  halter  rein  around  a 
sapling  about  two  feet  from  the  ground,  and 
was  now  preparing  to  deal  the  horse  a  blow 
with  the  axe  between  its  eyes.  The  animal 
seemed  unaware  of  any  danger,  but  kept  its 
head  going  from  side  to  side,  trying  to  fight 
certain  bothersome  gad-flies. 

"  O,  sir,  stop;  don't,  don't;  please, sir, don't !" 
cried  the  girl,  her  sweet  voice  breaking  into 
silvery  echo  fragments  in  every  nook  of  the 
little  hollow. 

The  man  gazed  all  around,  and,  seeing  no 
one,  let  fall  the  axe  by  his  side.  The  birds, 
taking  advantage  of  the  silence,  lifted  a  twit- 
tering chorus  through  the  dense  dark  tops  of 
the  trees.  The  slimmest  breath  of  air  languidly 
caressed  the  leaves  of  the  rose  vines.  The 
bubbling  of  the  brook  seemed  to  touch  a 
mellower  key,  and  the  yellow  butterflies  settled 
all  together  on  a  little  sand  bar,  their  bright 
wings  shut  straight  and  sharp  above  their 
bodies.  The  man  seemed  intently  listening. 
"  Tw'an't  mammy's  voice,  nohow,"  he  muttered; 
u  but  I'd  like  to  know  who  'twas,  though." 

He  stood  a  moment  longer,  as  if  in  doubt, 
then  again  raising  his  axe  he  continued  : 

"  Must  'a'  been  a  jay  bird  squeaked.  Wo- 
erp  'ere  now !  I'm  not  goin'  to  fool  wi'  ye  all 
day,  so  hold  yor  head  still !" 


96  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

That  was  a  critical  moment  for  the  lean, 
miserable  horse.  It  lowered  its  head  and  held 
it  quite  still.  The  axe  was  steadily  poised  in 
the  air.  The  man's  face  wore  a  look  of  deter- 
mination— grim,  stone-like.  He  was,  perhaps, 
twenty-five,  tall  and  bony,  with  a  countenance 
sallow  almost  to  greenness,  sunken  pale  blue 
eyes,  sun  burnt  hair,  thin  flaxy  beard,  and 
irregular,  half  decayed  teeth.  Although  his" 
body  and  limbs  were  shrunken  to  the  last  de- 
gree of  attenuation,  still  the  big  cords  of  his 
neck  and  wrists  stood  out  taut,  suggesting 
great  strength.  The  blow  would  be  a  terrible 
one.  The  horse  would  die  almost  without  a 
struggle. 

uO,  O,  O!  Indeed,  sir,  you  must  not! 
Stop  that,  sir,  instantly  !  You  shall  not  do  it, 
sir!     O,  sir!" 

And  fluttering  down  from  her  perch,  Rose 
flew  to  the  spot  where  the  tragedy  was  pend- 
ing, and  cast  herself  pale  and  trembling  be- 
tween the  horse  and  its  would-be  executioner. 

The  axe  fell  from  the  man's  hands. 

His  eyes  became  exactly  circular. 

His  under  jaw  dropped  so  that  his  mouth 
was  open  to  its  fullest  gaping  capacity.  His 
shoulders  fell  till  their  points  almost  met  in 
front  of  his  sunken  chest.  He  was  a  picture 
of  overwhelming  surprise. 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.      97 

Higli  up  on  the  dead  spire  of  a  walnut  tree 
a  woodpecker  began  to  beat  a  long,  rattling 
tattoo.  The  horse  very  lazily  and  innocently 
winked  his  brown  eyes,  and  putting  forth  his 
nose  sniffed  at  the  skirt  of  the  girl's  dress. 

"  I'm  glad — O  Pin  ever  so  glad  you'll  not  kill 
him  !"  murmured  the  little  lady  when  she  saw 
the  axe  fall  to  the  ground. 

The  man  stood  a  long  moment,  as  if  petrified 
or  frozen  into  position,  then  somewhat  recover- 
ing, he  re-seized  the  axe,  and  flourishing  it  high 
in  the  air,  cried  in  a  voice  that,  cracked  and 
shrill,  rang  petulantly  through  the  woods  : 

M I  said  I'd  kill  'im  if  that  garglin'  oil  didn't 
cure  'im,  'an  I'm  derned  ef  I  don't,  too!" 

M  O,  sir,  if  you  please !  The  poor  horse  is 
not  to  blame !"  exclaimed  the  excited  girl. 

"  'Taint  no  use  o'  beggin' ;  he's  no  'count  but 
to  jist  eat  up  com,  an'  hay,  an'  paster  an'  the 
likes;  and  his  blasted  fistleo  gits  wus  an'  wus 
all  the  time.  An't  I  spent  more'n  he's  wo'th  a 
tryin'  to  cure  'in,  an'  don't  everybody  laugh  at 
me  'cause  I've  got  sich  a  derned  ole  slummux 
of  a  boss?  Jist  blame  my  picter  if  I'll  stand 
it !  So  now  you've  hearn  me  toot  my  tin  horn, 
an'  ye  may  as  well  stan'  out'n  the  way  !" 

u  But,  sir,  I'll  take  him  off  your  hands,  may 
I ?    Say,  sir?    O  please  let  me  take  him  !" 
9 


98  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"An'  what  iii  thunder  do  you  want  of  him  ? 
What  good's  he  goin'  to  do  you  I  'Cause,  you 
see,  he  can't  work  nor  be  rid  on  nor  nothin'." 

"  O  never  mind,  sir,  just  please  give  him  to 
me  and  I'll  take  him  and  care  for  him.  Poor 
horsey  !  Poor  horsey !  See,  he  loves  me  al- 
ready !" 

The  beast  had  thrust  its  nose  against  the 
maiden's  hand. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  'bout  this.  I'd  as  soon 
'at  you  have  'im  as  not  if  I  hadn't  swore  to 
kill  'im,  an'  I  musn't  lie  to  'im.  An'  besides, 
Fve  had  sich  a  pesky  derned  time  wi'  'im  'at  it 
looks  kinder  mean  'at  I  shouldn't  have  the  sat- 
isfaction of  bustin'  his  head  for  it.  I'm  goin' 
to  knock  'im,  an'  ye  jist  mought  as  well  stan' 
aside !" 

Just  then  the  peculiarities  of  the  man's  char- 
acter were  written  on  his  face.  His  nose  de- 
noted pugnacity,  his  lips  sensuality,  but  not 
of  a  base  sort,  his  eyes  ignorance  and  rough 
kindness,  his  chin  firmness,  his  jaw  tenacity  of 
purpose,  and  his  complexion  the  ague.  He 
had  sworn  to  kill  the  horse,  and  kill  him  he 
would.  You  could  see  that  in  the  very  wrin  kles 
of  his  neck.  He  evidently  felt  that  it  was  a 
duty  he  owed  to  his  conscience — a  duty  made 
doubly  imperative  by  the  horse's  refusal  to  get 
well  by  the  exact  time  prescribed. 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.      09 

While  he  stood  with  his  axe  raised,  Eose 
was  very  diligently  and  nervously  tugging  at 
the  knot  that  fastened  the  halter  rein  to  the 
tree,  and  ere  he  was  aware  of  her  intent,  she 
had  untied  it  and  was  resolutely  leading  the 
poor  old  animal  away. 

The  man's  eyes  got  longest  the  short  way  as 
he  gazed  at  the  retreating  figure. 

"  Well  now,  that's  as  cool  as  a  cowcumber 
and  twicet  as  juicy  !  Gal,  ye'r'  a  brick  !  ye'r'  a 
knot !  YeV  a  born  pacer !  Take  'im  'long  for 
all  I  keer !    Take  'im  'long !" 

lie  put  down  his  axe,  placed  his  hands 
against  his  sides  and  smiled,  as  he  spoke,  a 
big  wrinkling  smile  that  covered  the  whole  of 
his  sallow,  skinny  face  and  ran  clear  down  to 
the  neck  band  of  his  homespun  shirt. 

"  Pluck,  no  eeud  to  it !"  he  muttered  ;  "  won- 
der who  she  is  ?    Foorty — geeroody !" 

The  wild  birds  sang  a  triumphant  hymn,  the 
breeze  freshened  till  the  whole  woods  rustled, 
and  louder  still  rose  the  bubbling  of  the  stream 
among  its  bowlders. 

"  Well,  I'll  jist  be  dorged !  The  poortiest  gal 
In  all  Injianny !  An'  she's  tuck  my  ole  boss 
whether  or  no!  She's  a  knot!  Sort  o'  a  cool 
proceeding  it  'pears  to  me,  but  she's  orful  wel- 
come to  the  hoss !     Ilowdsoinever  it's  mighty 


100         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

much  of  a  joke  on  me,  'r  my  name's  not  Zach 
Jones  !" 

He  laughed  long  and  loud.  The  birds 
laughed,  too,  and  still  the  wind  freshened. 

The  girl  and  the  horse  had  quickly  disap- 
peared behind  the  hazel  and  papaw  bushes. 
Zach  Jones  was  alone  with  his  axe  and  his  re- 
flections. 

"  Yender's  where  she  sot — right  up  yender 
on  that  ole  clay  root.  She  must  'a'  been  a 
fish  in',  I  reckon." 

Another  admiring  chuckle. 

He  went  to  the  spot  and  clambered  up  among 
the  roots.  There  lay  Eose's  sketch  book  and 
pencil  case.  He  took  up  the  book  and  curiously 
turned  the  leaves,  his  eyes  running  with  some- 
thing like  childish  delight  over  the  flowers  and 
bits  of  landscape.  He  had  never  before  seen 
a  drawing. 

u  Poorty  as  the  gal  'erself,  'most,"  he  said, 
u  an'  seein'  'at  she's  tuck  my  ole  hoss,  I  spose 
I'll  have  to  take  these  'ere  jimcracks  o'  her'n. 
I'll  take  'em  'long  anyhow,  jist  to  'member  her 
by !" 

This  argument  seemed  logical  and  conclu- 
sive, and  with  a  quick  glance  over  his  shoulder 
he  crammed  book  and  pencil  case  into  the 
capacious  depths  of  the  side  pocket  of  his 
pants. 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.  101 

"Now  then  it's  about  time  for  my  chill,  an' 
I'd  better  go  home.  Hang  the  luck;  s'pose  I'll 
alius  have  the  ager!"  This  last  sentence  was 
uttered  in  a  tone  of  comical  half  despair,  and 
accompanied  by  a  facial  contortion  possible  to 
no  one  but  a  person  thoroughly  saturated  with 
ague  in  its  chronic  form. 

After  he  left  the  dell,  Zach  had  a  hot  walk 
across  a  clover  field  before  he  reached  the 
dilapidated  log  house  where  he  lived  with  his 
widowed  mother.  In  a  short  time  his  chill  set 
in,  and  it  was  a  fearful  one.  His  teeth  chat- 
tered and  his  bony  frame  rattled  like  a  bundle 
of  dry  sticks  in  a  strong  wind.  After  it  had 
shaken  him  thus  for  about  an  hour,  his  brother 
Sammy,  a  lad  of  ten  years,  came  in  with  a  jug 
of  buttermilk  brought  from  a  neighbor's. 

"Mammy,  'ere's  yer  buttermilk,"  said  he, 
setting  the  jug  on  the  floor.  "Shakin'  like 
forty — a'n't  ye,  Zach?"  ho  added,  glancing 
with  a  sad,  lugubrious  smile  at  his  brother ; 
then,  changing  his  tone  and  also  his  counte- 
nance, he  continued,  with  a  broader  grin  :  "  Bet 
ye  a  dollar  ye  can't  guess  what  I  seed  over  to 
'Squire  Martin's!" 

"No,  nor  I  don't  care  a  cuss;  so  put  oft' an' 
don't  come  yawpin'  round  me !"  replied  Zach. 

"  Yes  ye  do,  too;  an'  I  know  ye  do, for  'twas 
9* 


102         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

yer  ole  fistleo  hoss.  That  'ere  fine  gal  'at  stays 
over  there  is  havin'  a  man  wash  'ini  an'  doctor 
'im."  Sammy  winked  and  hitched  up  his  pants 
as  he  spoke. 

u  Do  say,  Sammy,  is  that  so,  now?"  cried  the 
widow,  holding  up  her  hands.  "  How  on  'arth 
come  she  by  the  hoss  I  Zach,  I  thought  you'd 
killed  that  creater' !" 

"  Mammy,  ef  you  an'  Sammy  '11  jist  let  me 
'joy  this  'ere  ager  in  peace  I'll  beorful  'bleeged 
to  ye,"  said  Zach,  making  his  chair  creak  and 
quiver  with  the  ecstasy  of  his  convulsion. 

But  Sammy's  tongue  would  go.  He  thought 
he  had  a  "good  'un"  on  Zach,  and  nothing 
short  of  lightning  could  have  killed  him  quick 
enough  to  prevent  Lis  telling  it. 

"  The  gal  says  as  how  Zach  gin  'er  the  ole 
hoss  for  to  'member  'im  by  !"  he  blurted  out, 
shying  briskly  from  Zack's  foot,  which  other- 
wise would  have  landed  him  in  the  door  yard. 

a  Lookee  here  now,  'Zach,  you  jist  try  the 
likes  o'  that  ag'in  an'  I'll  give  ye  sich  a  broom- 
sticlfm'  as  ye  a'n't  had  lately.  Ye  mought  'a' 
injured  the  child's  insides  !"  and  as  she  spoke 
the  widow  flourished  the  broom. 

So  Zach  dropped  his  head  upon  his  chest  and 
employed  himself  exclusively  with  his  chill. 
When  his  mother  was  not  looking  at  him, how- 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.  103 

ever,  he  would  occasionally  slip  the  sketch 
book  partly  out  of  his  pocket  and  peep  be- 
tweeu  its  leaves.  When  his  fever  came  on  he 
got  "  flighty "  and  horrified  the  widow  with 
talk  about  an  angel  on  a  clay  root  and  a  sweet 
little  "boss  thief "  from  whom  he  had  stolen 
the  "  picters !" 

I  cannot  exactly  say  how  Zach  got  to  going 
over  to  'Squire  Martin's  so  often  after  this. 
But  his  first  visit  was  a  compulsory  one.  His 
mother  happening  to  discover  his  possession 
of  the  sketch  book  and  pencil  case,  made  him 
return  them  with  his  own  hand  to  Rose.  He 
at  once  became  deeply  interested  in  the  pro- 
gress of  his  former  patient's  convalescence; 
for,  strange  to  say,  the  poor  horse  began  al- 
most immediately  to  get  well,  and  in  two  months 
wars  sound,  glossy  and  fat.  Nor  was  be  an  ill- 
looking  animal.  On  the  contrary,  when  Rose 
sat  on  his  back  and  stroked  his  mane,  he  arched 
his  neck  and  pawed  the  ground  like  a  thorough- 
bred. 

'Squire  Martin  was  a  good  man,  and  seeing 
how  Zach  seemed  to  enjoy  Rose's  company,  he 
one  day  took  the  girl  aside  and  said  to  her : 

"  You  must  be  somewhat  of  a  doctor,  my 
dear,  seeing  how  you've  touched  up  the  old 
boss,  and  I  propose  for  you  to  try  your  hand 


104         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

on  another  subject.  There's  poor  Zach  Jones, 
who's  had  the  chills  for  six  or  eight  years  as 
coustant  as  sunrise  and  sunset,  and  no  medi- 
cine can't  do  him  any  good.  Now  I'll  be  bound 
if  j^ou'll  try  you  can  cure  him  sound  and  well. 
All  you  need  to  do  in  the  world  is  to  pet  him 
up  some'at  as  you  have  the  olehoss.  Jist  take 
a  little  interest  in  the  feller  an'  he'll  come  out 
all  right.  All  he  wants  is  to  forget  he  ever 
had  the  ager  and  take  some  light  exercise  and 
have  some  fun.  Fun  is  the  only  medicine  to 
cure  the  chills  with.  Quinine  is  no  'count  but 
to  make  a  racket  in  a  feller's  head,  and  calomel 
'11  kill  'im,  sure.  Now  I  propose  to  let  Zach 
have  a  boss  and  saddle  and  you  must  go  out  a 
riding  with  'im  and  try  to  divert  his  mind  from 
his  sorrows  and  aches  and  pains — now  that's 
a  good  girl,  Rosie." 

Rose,  whose  healthful,  impulsive,  generous 
nature  would  not  allow  her  to  refuse  so  well 
intended  and  withal  so  small  a  request,  readily 
agreed  to  do  all  she  could  in  the  matter,  and 
very  soon  thereafter  she  and  Zach  were  the 
very  best  of  friends,  taking  long  rides  together 
through  woodlands  and  up  and  down  the  pleas- 
ant lanes  of  'Squire  Martin's  broad  estates. 
The  young  girl  soon  found  the  companionship 
of  Zach,  novel  and  most  awkward  as  it  was  at 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.     105 

first,  agreeable  and  almost  charming  in  its 
freshness  and  sincerity.  As  for  Zach  himself, 
he  was  the  girl's  slave  from  the  start.  He 
could  not  do  too  much  for  her  in  his  earnest, 
respectful  way.  Women  are  always  tyrants, 
and  their  tyranny  seems  to  be  inversely  as 
their  size  and  directly  as  the  size  of  the  man 
upon  whom  it  is  exerted.  Rose  was  a  very 
little  chit  of  a  maiden,  and  Zach  was  a  great 
big  bony  frame  of  a  fellow.  The  result,  of 
course,  was  despotism.  But,  although  Zach 
was  a  democrat,  he  seemed  to  like  the  oppres- 
sion, and  ran  after  big-winged  butterflies, 
opened  gates,  pulled  down  and  put  up  innumer- 
able fences,  climbed  trees  after  empty  bird 
nests,  gathered  flowers  and  ferns — did  every- 
thing, in  fact  required  of  him  by  his  little 
queen.  He  became  a  daily  visitor  at  the 
'Squire's,  and  seemed  to  have  entirely  forgot- 
ten everything  else  or  utterly  submerged  it  in 
his  unselfish  devotion  to  the  girl.  The  good 
'Squire  saw  this  with  unbounded  delight. 

So  August  quietly  drifted  by,  and  September 
hung  its  yellow  banner  on  the  corn  and  said 
farewell  with  a  sigh  that  had  in  it  a  smack  of 
winter. 

Rose's  parents  were  wealthy  and  lived  in 
Indianapolis,  and  now  came  the  time  for  the 


106  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

girl's  return  to  her  city  home.  Meanwhile  a 
remarkable  change  had  taken  place  in  the 
health  and  spirits  of  Zach  Jones.  The  ague 
had  departed,  the  sallowness  was  gone  from 
his  skin,  somewhat  of  flesh  had  gathered  on 
his  cheeks,  and  in  his  eyes  shone  a  cheerful 
light.  He  was  straight  and  almost  plump,  and 
his  hair  and  beard  had  assumed  a  gloss  and 
liveliness  they  had  never  before  known.  He 
had  thrown  away  quinine  and  calomel,  and  his 
sleep  at  night  was  soft  and  sweet,  broken  only 
by  fair,  happy  dreams,  that  lingered  long  after 
he  was  awake.  At  home  his  mother  had  far 
less  trouble  with  him,  and  Sammy  never  got 
a  kick  even  if  he  did  occasionally  mention  old 
fistleo  in  an  equivocal  way.  The  amount  of 
provender  it  required  to  satisfy  Zach's  appetite 
now  was  a  constant  source  of  amazement  to 
the  widow. 

The  evening  preceding  Eose's  departure  was 
a  fine  one.  The  woods  were  gold,  the  sky  was 
turquoise.  Instead  of  riding,  as  usual,  the  young 
people  took  a  stroll  in  the  'Squire's  immense 
orchard.  The  apples  were  ripe  and  ready  to 
be  gathered  into  the  cellars;  their  mellow  fra- 
grance flavored  the  autumn  air  so  delicately 
that  Zach  said  it  smelt  sweeter  than  an  oven 
full  of  sugar  cakes. 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.  107 

When  the  young  folk  returned  from  their 
walk  the  'Squire  was  standing  on  the  door 
step  of  his  house.  His  quick  eyes  caught  a 
glimpse  of  something  unsatisfactory  in  the 
faces  of  the  approaching  couple — Zach,  par- 
ticularly, despite  his  evident  effort  to  choke 
down  something,  discovered  unmistakable 
signs  of  suffering.  Eose  was  simply  sober  and 
thoughtful. 

"  What  now,  Zach  ?"  asked  the  'Squire, 
"  sick,  eh  !"  "  D'kuow ;  guess  I'm  in  for  a 
shake ;  wish  to  the  Lord  it  'd  shake  my  back 
bone  clean  out'n  me  !"  was  the  reply,  in  a  queer 
gurgling  voice.  A  bunch  of  fall  roses  fell 
from  his  vest  button-hole,  but  he  did  not  pick 
it  up.  A  hot  flush,  in  the  midst  of  a  ghastly 
pallor,  burned  on  the  cheeks  of  the  speaker. 
Rose  tapped  the  ground  with  the  toe  of  her 
kid  boot,  but  did  not  speak. 

The  man  and  the  girl  stood  there  close 
together  awhile,  and  the  'Squire  did  not  catch 
what  they  said  as  they  shook  hands  and  part- 
ed. When  Zach  had  gone  home  the  'Squire 
told  Rose  that  he  wished  she  would  stay  a 
little  longer,  till  the  ague  season  was  over, 
just  on  Zach's  account.  Rose  quietly  replied, 
"  I  have  already  stayed  too  long;"  but  her  voice 
had  an  infinity  of  pity  aud  sorrow  in  it  that 
the  'Squire  did  not  detect 


108  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

Next  morning  Rose  went  home  to  the  city 
and  soon  after  made  a  brilliant  debut  in  society, 
for  she  was  really  a  charming  little  thing. 
That  winter  was  a  festive  one — a  season  of 
great  social  activity — and  some  of  its  most 
direct  and  x>rominent  results  were  a  few  notable 
marriages  in  the  spring,  among  which  was 

that  of  Rose  to  a  banker  of  P ,  Kentucky, 

the  happy  union  being  consummated  in  May. 

On  the  very  day  of  her  wedding  Rose  re- 
ceived from  her  uncle  the  following  note : 

"  Dear  Niece  : 

"  Gome  to  see  us,  even  if  you  won't  stay  but 
one  day.  Come  right  off,  if  you're  a  Christian 
girl.  Zach  Jones  is  dying  of  consumption  and 
is  begging  to  see  you  night  and  day.  He  says 
he's  got  something  on  his  mind  he  wants  to 
say  to  you,  and  when  he  says  it  he  can  die 
happy.  The  poor  fellow  is  monstrous  bad  off, 
and  I  think  you  ought  to  be  sure  and  come. 
We're  all  well.    Your  loving  uncle, 

"  Jared  Martin." 

Something  in  this  homely  letter  so  deeply 
affected  Rose  that  she  prevailed  on  her  hus- 
band, a  few  days  after  their  marriage,  to  take 
her  to  'Squire  Martin's. 

It  was  nearly  sundown  when  the  young 


LEGEND   OF  POTATO  CREEK.  109 

wife,  accompanied  by  the  'Squire,  entered  the 
room  of  the  dying  man.  He  lay  on  a  low  bed 
by  an  open  window,  through  which,  with  hollow 
hungry  eyes,  he  was  gazing  into  the  blue  dis- 
tance that  is  called  the  sky  of  May.  Birds 
were  singing  in  the  trees  all  around  the  house, 
and  a  cool  breath  of  violet-scented  air  rippled 
through  the  window.  The  widow  Jones,  worn 
out  with  watching  by  the  sick  bed,  sat  sleep- 
ing in  her  rude  arm-chair;  Sammy  had  gone 
after  the  cow — a  gift  from  the  'Squire. 

The  visitors  entered  softly,  but  Zach  heard 
them  and  feebly  turned  his  head.  He  put  out 
a  bloodless  hand  and  clasped  the  warm  fingers 
of  Rose,  pulling  her  into  a  seat  by  his  couch. 
A  wan  smile  flitted  across  his  face  as  he  fix- 
ed his  eyes,  burning  like  sparks  in  the  gray 
ash  of  a  spent  fire,  on  tier's,  dewy  with  rising 
tears. 

"  The  same  little  Rose  you  use  to  wiis,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  faltering  voice,  that  had  in  it  an 
unconquerable  allegiance  to  the  one  dream  of 
his  manhood.  His  unnaturally  bright  eyes 
ran  swiftly  over  her  face  and  form,  then  closed, 
as  if  to  fasten  the  vision  within,  that  it  might 
follow  him  to  eternity. 

"The  same  little  Rose  you  use  to  wiis,"  he 
repeated,  "  only  now  you're  picked  off  the  vine 
10 


110         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

au'  nobody  can't  touch  ye  but  the  owner.  I'm 
a  poor,  no  'count  dyin'  man,  Rose,  but  you'll 

never ."    His  voice  choked  a  little  and  he 

did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Perhaps  he  thought 
it  were  better  not  finished. 

A  few  moments  of  utter  silence  followed, 
during  which,  faintly,  far  out  in  the  field  be- 
hind the  house,  was  heard  the  childish  voice 
of  Sammy,  singing  an  old  hymn,  two  lines  of 
which  were  most  distinctly  heard  by  those  in 
the  house. 

"  Ah,  yes — 

"  This  world's  a  wilderness  of  woe, 
This  world  it  ain't  my  home," 

chimed  in  the  trembling  voice  of  the  sick  man. 
Then,  by  an  effort  that  evidently  taxed  his 
fading  powers  to  the  last  degree,  he  fixed  his 
eyes  firmly  on  those  of  the  young  woman. 
Here  was  a  martyr  of  the  divine  sort,  true  and 
unchangeable  in  the  flame  of  the  torture. 

"  Rose,  little  Rose,"  he  said,  glancing  un- 
easily at  the  'Squire,  "I've  got  something 
private  like  to  say  to  you." 

The  young  woman  trembled.  Memory  was 
at  work. 

"'Squire,  go  out  a  minute,  will  ye?"  con- 
tinued Zach. 

The  sick  man's  request  was  promptly  obeyed, 


LEGEND  OF  POTATO  CREEK.  Ill 

and  Rose  sat,  drooping,  alone  beside  the  bed, 
while  the  widow  snored  away. 

Zach  now  more  nervously  clasped  the  hand 
of  the  young  woman.  A  spot  of  faint  sunshine 
glimmered  on  the  pillow  close  by  the  man's 
head.  The  out-door  sounds  of  the  wind  in  the 
young  grass,  and  the  rustle  of  the  new  soft 
leaves  of  the  trees,  crept  into  the  room  gently, 
as  if  not  to  drown  the  low  voice  of  the  dying 
man. 

u  It's  been  on  my  mind  ever  since  we  parted, 
Rose,  and  I  ort  'a'  said  it  then,  but  I  choked 
an'  couldn't;  but  I  kin  say  it  now  and  I  will." 
He  paused  a  moment  and  Rose  looked  pitifully 
at  him.  His  chin  was  thrust  out  firmly  and 
his  lips  had  a  determined  set.  He  looked  just 
as  he  did  when  about  to  knock  the  poor  old 
horse  on  the  head  over  in  the  dell  that  day. 
How  vividly  the  tragic  situation  was  recalled 
in  Rose's  mind ! 

"  Yes,  I  will  say  it  now,  so  I  will,"  he  resumed. 
"Since  things  turned  out  jist  as  they  have, 
Rose,  I  do  wish  I'd  'a'  paid  no  'tention  to  ye 
an'  jist  gone  on  and  knocked  that  denied  ole 
fistleoed  boss  so  dead  'at  he'd  'a'  never  kicked 
_I  do— I  do,  'i  hokey !  I  don't  want  to  make 
ye  feel  bad,  but  I'm  goin'  away  now,  an'  it 
'pears  to  me  like  as  if  I'd  go  easy  if  I  know'd 


112         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

you'd ."     He  turned    away  his  face  and 

drew  just  one  little  fluttering  breath.  When, 
after  only  a  few  minutes'  absence,  the  'Squire 
came  in,  the  widow  still  slept,  the  sweet  air  still 
rippled  through  the  room,  but  Eose  held  a  dead 
hand;  Zach  W2S  at  rest!  The  'Squire  placed 
his  hand  on  the  bright  hair  of  Rose  and  gazed 
mournfully  down  into  the  pinched,  pallid  face 
of  the  dead.    How  awfully  calm  a  dead  face  is  ! 

The  widow  stirred  in  her  chair,  groaned,  and 
awoke.  For  a  moment  she  bent  her  eyes 
wTouderingly,  inquiringly  on  the  young  wo- 
man; then,  rising,  she  clasped  her  in  her  great 
bony  arms. 

"  You  are  the  Eose,  the  little  Eose  he's  been 
goin'  on  so  about.  O,  honey,  I'm  orful  glad 
you've  come.  You  ort  jist  to  'a'  heerd  him 
talk  about  ye  when  he  got  flighty  like — * 
but  O— O— my !  O  Lor' !  Zach— Zachy,  dear! 
O,  Miss,  O,  he's  dead — he's  dead!" 

"Dead,  yes,  dead!"  echoed  the 'Squire,  his 
words  dropping  with  the  weight  of  lead. 

Across  the  fields  of  young  green  wheat  ran 
waves  of  the  spring  wind,  murmuring  and 
sighing,  while  the  dust  of  blossoms  wheeled, 
and  rose  and  fell  in  the  last  soft  rays  of  the 
going  sun.  A  big  yellow  butterfly  flitted 
through  the  room. 


LEGEND   OF  POTATO  CREEK.  113 

Presently  Sammy  entered.  He  came  in  like 
a  gust  of  wind,  making  things  rattle  with  his 
impetuous  motion. 

"  O,  mammy  !  O,  Zacli !  I's  got  s'thin'  to 
tell  ye,  an'  111  bet  a  biscuit  you  can't  guess 
what 't  is  !"  he  cried  breathlessly. 

"O,  Sammy,  honey,  0,dear!"  groaned  the 
widow. 
"  S-s-h  F  said  the  'Squire  solemnly. 
"Well,    I  jist    wanted   'm   to   guess,"  re- 
plied Sammy,  "  for  it's  awful  doggone  cur'u's 

'at " 

«  S-s-h !" 

"  The  fistleo  is  broke  out  on  Zach's  ole  hoss 
ten  times  as  wuss  as  ever!" 
"  S-s-s-s-h !" 

"  It's  so,  for  I  seed  it.  It's  layin'  down  over 
in  the  hollow  by  'tater  creek,  where  the  ole 

clay  root  is,  an'  its  jist  about  to  d ." 

"S-s-h!" 

The  child  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  face  and 
was  struck  mute.  And  darkness  stole  athwart 
the  earth,  but  the  morrow's  sun  drove  it  away. 
Never,  however,  did  any  sun  or  any  season 
chase  from  the  heart  of  little  Rose  the  shadow 
that  was  the  memory  of  the  man  who  died  in 
that  cabin. 

10* 


Stealing  a  (onductoh. 


He  shambled  into  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel 
at  Thorntown,  a  Boone  County  village,  and, 
with  a  bow  and  a  hearty  "  how -de  do  to  you 
all,"  took  the  only  vacant  chair.  He  scratched 
a  match  and  lighted  his  pipe.  "  Now  we'll  be 
bored  with  some  sort  of  a  long-winded  story," 
whispered  some  to  others  of  the  loungers 
present.  "  Never  knowed  him  to  fail,"  said  a 
lank  fellow,  almost  loud  enough  for  the  subject 
to  hear.  "He's  our  travelled  man,"  added  a 
youth,  who  winked  as  if  he  were  extremely  in- 
telligent and  didn't  mind  letting  folks  know 
it. 

The  man  himself  whiffed  away  carelessly  at 
his  pipe,  now  and  then  raising  one  eye  higher 
than  the  other,  to  take  a  sort  of  side  survey  of 
the  persons  present.  That  eye  was  not  long 
in  settling  upon  me,  and  after  a  short,  search- 
ing look,  gleamed  in  a  well  pleased  way.  He 
was  a  stout  formed  man  of  about  fifty  years, 
dressed  rather  seedily,  and  wearing  a  plug  hat 


STEALING  A  CONDUCTOR.  115 

of  enormous  height,  the  crown  of  which  was 
battered  into  the  last  degree  of  grotesqueness. 
He  got  right  up,  and,  dragging  his  chair  be- 
hind him,  came  over  and  settled  close  down 
in  front  of  me. 

u  Stranger  here,  a'n't  youF 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Your  name's  Fuller,  a'n't  it  T* 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Well,  inebbo  I'm  mistaken,  but  you're  just 
the  picter  o'  Fuller.  Never  was  a  conductor 
on  a  railroad,  was  you  V 

"  Never,  sir." 

u  Never  was  down  in  the  swamps  o'  South- 
Eastern  Georgy,  was  you  F 

u  Never,  sir." 

"Well,  that  beats  four  aces!  I  could  'a' 
bet  on  your  bein'  Fuller."  He  paused  a 
moment,  and  then  added  in  a  very  insinuating 
tone :  "  If  you  are  Fuller  you  needn't  be  afeard 
to  say  so,  for  I  don't  hold  any  grudge  'gin  you 
about  that  little  matter.  Now,  sure  enough, 
a'n't  your  name  Fuller,  in  fact  ?" 

I  glared  at  the  man  a  moment,  hesitating 
about  whether  or  not  I  should  plant  my  fist  in 
his  eye.  But  something  of  almost  child-like 
simplicity  and  sincerity  beaming  from  his  face 
restrained  me.  Surely  the  fellow  did  not  wish 
to  be  as  impudent  as  his  words  would  imply. 


116  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"  Well,  stranger,  I  see  I've  got  to  explain,  but 
the  story's  not  overly  long,"  said  he,  hitching 
up  a  little  closer  to  me  and  settling  himself 
comfortably. 

I  was  about  to  get  up  and  walk  out  of  the 
room,  when  some  one  of  the  by-sitters  filliped 
a  little  roll  of  paper  to  me.  Unrolling  it  I 
read — 

u  Let  him  go  on,  he'll  give  you  a  lively  one. 
He's  a  brick." 

So,  concluding  that  possibly  I  might  be  en- 
tertained, I  lounged  back  in  my  seat. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  u  I  thought  you  was 
Fuller,  an'  Fuller  was  the  only  conductor  I 
ever  stole." 

II  Stole  a  conductor,"  whispered  somebody, 
"  that's  a  new  one  !" 

"I've  stole  a  good  many  things  in  my  time, 
but  I'm  here  to  bet  that  no  other  living  Hoosier 
ever  stole  a  railroad  conductor,  an'  Fuller  was 
the  only  one  I  ever  stole.  I  stole  him  slicker 
'n  a  eel.  I  had  him  'fore  he  knowed  it,  and  you 
jist  better  bet  he  was  one  clean  beat  conductor 
fore  I  was  done  wi'  'im. 

u  I  kin  tell  you  the  whole  affair  in  a  few  min- 
utes, and  I  da'  say  you'll  laugh  a  good  deal 
'fore  I'm  through.  You  see  I  went  down  to 
Floridy  for  my  health,  and  when  I  had  about 


STEALING  A  CONDUCTOR.  117 

recivered  I  got  onto  a  bum  ill  Jacksonville 
and  spent  all  my  money  and  everything  else 
but  my  very  oldest  suit  o'  clothes  and  my  pis- 
tol, a  Colt's  repeater,  ten  inch  barrel.  None  o' 
you  can't  tell  how  a  feller  feels  in  a  predica- 
ment o'  that  sort.  Somethin'  got  into  my 
throat  'bout  as  big  as  a  egg,  and  I  felt  kinder 
moist  about  the  eyes  when  I  had  to  stare  the 
fact  in  the  face  that  I  was  nigh  onto,  or  possi- 
bly quite  a  thousand  miles  from  home  without 
ary  a  dime  in  my  pocket.  But  if  there's  one 
thing  I  do  have  more  'u  another  in  my  nater 
it's  common  sense  grit.  Well,  what  you  s'pose 
I  done  I  W'y  I  jest  lit  out  for  home  afoot. 
Well,  sir,  the  derndest  swamps  is  them  Floridy 
and  Georgy  swamps.  It's  rally  all  one  swamp 
— the  Okeefenokee.  I  follored  the  railroad  that 
goes  up  to  Savanny,  and  it  led  me  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  outlying  fringes  of  that  terri- 
ble old  bog.  When  I  had  travelled  a  consid- 
erable distance  into  Georgy,  and  had  pretty 
well  wore  my  feet  off  up  to  my  ankle  j'ints,  and 
was  about  as  close  onto  starvation  as  a  'tater 
failure  in  Ireland,  and  when  my  under  lip  had 
got  to  hanging  down  like  the  skirt  o'  a  wore 
out  saddle,  and  when  every  step  seemed  like 
it'd  be  my  last,  I  jest  got  clean  despairing  like 
and  concluded  to  pray  a  little.    So  I  got  down 


118         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

upon  my  knee  j'ints  and  put  up  a  most  extra- 
ornary  supplication.  I  felt  every  word  o'  it, 
too,  in  all  the  marrer  of  my  bones.  The  place 
where  I  was  a  prayin'  was  a  sort  o'  hummock 
spot  in  a  mighty  bad  part  oJ  the  swamp.  Some 
awful  tali  pines  towered  stupenjisly  above  me. 
Well,  jest  as  I  was  finished,  and  was  a  saying 
amen,  the  lordy  mercy  what  a  yowl  something 
did  give  right  over  me  in  a  tree !  I  think  I 
jumped  as  high  as  your  head,  stranger,  and 
come  down  flat-footed  onto  a  railroad  cross  tie. 
Whillikins,  how  I  was  scared !  It  was  one  o' 
them  whooping  owls  they  have  down  there. 
It  was  while  I  was  a  running  from  that  'ere 
owl  a  thinkin'it  was  a  panther,  that  the  thought 
struck  me  somewhere  in  the  back  o*  the  head 
that  I  might  steal  a  ride  to  Savanny  on  the 
first  train  'at  might  pass.  { HI  try  it !'  says  I, 
and  so  I  sot  right  down  there  in  the  swamp 
and  calmly  waited  for  a  train.  In  about  a  hour 
here  come  one,  like  the  de'il  a  braking  hemp, 
jist  more'n  a  roaring  through  the  swamp.  I 
forgot  to  tell  you  'at  it  was  after  dark,  but  the 
moon  was  dimly  a  shining  through  the  fog  that 
covers  everything  there  o'  nights.  Well,  here 
come  the  train,  and  as  she  passed  I  made  a 
lunge  at  the  hind  platform  of  the  last  car  and 
some  how  or  another  got  onto  it  and  away  I 


STEALING  A  CONDUCTOR.  119 

went.  It  was  mighty  much  softer  hi  walking, 
I  tell  you,  and  I  was  pleased  as  a  monkey  with 
a  red  cap  on.  My,  how  fast  that  train  did  go ! 
I  could  hardly  hold  onto  where  I  wus.  You 
may  jist  bet  I  clung  on  though,  and  finally  I 
got  myself  setting  down  on*  the  steps  and  then 
I  was  all  hunkey.  But  I  didn't  have  much 
time  to  enjoy  myself  there,  though,  for  all  of  a 
sudden  the  light  of  a  lantern  shined  on  me  and 
then  somebody  touched  me  and  said— 

"  Ticket  !" 

"  Mebbe  you  don't  know  how  onery  a  feller 
'11  feel  sometimes  when  he  hears  that  'ere  word 
ticket— 'specially  when  he  a'n't  got  no  ticket 
nor  no  money  to  pay  his  fare,  and  too,  when  he 
does  want  to  ride  a  little  of  the  derndest!  That 
was  my  fix!  I'd  'a'  give  a  thousand  dollars 
for  a  half  dollar ! 

u  Ticket !" 

"  He  shook  me  a  little  this  time  and  held  his 
lantern  down  low,  so's  to  see  into  my  face.  I 
know  I  must  'a'  looked  like  the  de'il. 

"  Ticket  here,  quick !" 

"  I've  done  paid,"  said  I. 

"  Show  your  check  then." 

"  Lost  it,"  says  I. 

"  Money,  then,  quick !" 

"  Got  none,"  says  I. 


120  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

u  What  the did  you  git  onto  rny  traiii 

for  without  ticket  or  money  ?  How  do  you  ex- 
pect to  travel  without  paying,  you lousy 

vagabond!    You  can't  steal  from  me  ;  out  with 

your wallet  and  gi'  me  the  money !  Hurry 

up!" 

"  A'n't  got  no  wallet  nor  no  money,"  says  I. 

u  Well,  I'll  dump  you  off  right  here,  then," 
said  he,  reaching  for  the  bell-rope  to  stop  the 
train. 

u  For  the  Lord's  sake  let  me  ride  to  Savan- 
ny !"  says  I. 

"A  dam  Northerner,  I  know  from  your 
voice!"  said  he,  pulling  the  rope.  The  train 
began  to  slack  and  soon  stopped. 

"  Get  off!"  said  the  conductor. 

u  Please  l'me  ride !"  says  I. 

«  Off  with  you  !" 

"  Jist  a  few  miles  here  on  the  steps !" 

"Off,  quick!" 

"  Please " 

"  Here  you  go !"  and  as  he  said  the  words  he 
tried  to  kick  me  off. 

"  In  a  second  I  was  like  a  Bengal  tiger.  I 
jumped  up  and  gethered  him  and  we  went  at 
it.  I'm  as  good  as  ever  fluttered,  and  pretty 
soon  I  give  him  one  flat  on  the  nose,  and  we 
both  went  off  'n  the  platform  together.    As  I 


STEALING  A  CONDUCTOR.  121 

started  off  I  happened  to  think  of  it,  so  I 
grabbed  up  aud  pulled  the  bell-rope  to  signal 
the  engineer  to  drive  on.  "  Hoot-toot !"  says 
the  whistle,  and  away  lick-to-split  went  the 
train,  and  slashy-to-splashy,  rattle-o-bangle, 
kewoppyty-whop,  bump,  thud  !  down  me  and 
that  'ere  conductor  come  onto  a  pile  o'  wore 
out  cross  ties  in  the  side  ditch,  and  there  we 
laid  a  fightin' ! 

"  But  you  jest  bet  it  didn't  take  me  long  to 
settle  him.  He  soon  began  to  sing  out  "nuff! 
'nuff!  take 'in  off!'  and  so  I  took  him  by  the 
hair  and  dragged  him  off  'n  the  cross  ties, 
shot  him  one  or  two  more  under  the  ear  with 
my  fist,  and  then  dropped  him.  He  crawled 
up  and  stood  looking  at  mo  as  if  I  was  the 
awfulest  thing  in  the  world.  I  s'pect  I  did 
look  scary,  for  I  was  terrible  mad.  His  nice 
was  bruised  up  mightily,  but  he  wasn't  a 
bleeding  much.    He  was  mostly  swelled. 

"Where's  my  train F  says  he,  in  a  sort  o' 
blank,  hollow  way. 

"Don't  ye  hear  itf  I  answered  him,  "it's 
gone  on  to  Savanny !" 

"  Gone !  who  told  'm  to  go  on  ?  what  'd  they 
go  leave  me  for  V9 

"  I  pulled  the  bell  rope,"  says  I. 

"Towf' 

11 


122         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSLEB  MOSAICS. 

"Yes,  me!" 

"What  in  the  world  did  you  do  that  for, 
man  V* 

"'Cause  you  wouldn't  let  me  ride  to  Sa- 
vanny !" 

"  What  '11 1  do !  what  '11 1  do !"  he  cried,  be- 
ginning to  waltz  'round  like  one  possessed. 

"  I  laughed — I  couldn't  help  it — and  at  the 
same  time  I  pulled  out  my  old  pistol. 

"  Yah-hoo-a !"  yelled  another  owl. 

"For  the  sake  o' humanity  don't  kill  me!" 
said  the  conductor. 

"  I'm  jest  a  going  to  shoot  you  a  little  bit  for 
the  fun  o'  the  thing,"  says  I. 

"  Mercy,  man !"  he  prayed. 

"Ticket!"  says  I. 

"  He  groaned  the  awfulest  kind,  and,  by  the 
moonlight,  I  saw  'at  the  big  tears  was  running 
down  his  face.  I  felt  sorry  for  him,  but  I 
kinder  thought  'at  after  what  he'd  done  he'd 
better  pray  a  little,  so  I  mentioned  it  to  him." 

"  I  guess  it  mought  be  best  if  you'd  pray  a 
little,"  says  I,  cocking  the  pistol.  My  voice 
had  a  decided  sepulchreal  sound.  The  pistol 
clicked  very  sharp. 

"O,  kind  sir,"  says  he,  "O,  dear  sir,  I 
never  did  pray,  I  don't  know  how  to  pray  !" 

"  Ticket  or  check !"  says  I,  and  he  kuowed  I 
was  talking  kind  o'  sarcasm.    "  Pray  quick !" 


STEALING  A  CONDUCTOR.  123 

"  He  got  down  and  prayed  like  a  Methodist 
preacher  at  his  very  best  licks.  He  must  'a' 
prayed  afore. 

"About  the  time  his  prayer  was  ended  I 
heard  a  train  coming  in  the  distance.  He 
jumped  up  and  listened. 

"Glory!  Heaven  be  praised !"  says  he, 
capering  around  like  a  mad  monkey,  "  they've 
missed  me  and  are  backing  down  to  hunt  me! 
where's  my  lantern?  Have  you  a  match? 
Gi'ine  your  handkerchief!" 

"  Not  so  fast,"  says  I  j  "  you  jest  be  moder- 
ate now,  will  you  ?  I've  no  notion  o'  you  get- 
ting on  that  train  any  more.  You  jest  walk 
along  wi'  me,  will  you  ?" 

"  Where  f  says  he. 

"Into  the  swamp,"  says  I;  "step  off  lively, 
too,  d'you  hear  me?" 

"  O  mercy,  mercy,  man !"  says  he. 

"  Ticket !"  says  I,  and  then  he  walked  along 
wf  me  into  the  swamp  some  two  or  three  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  railroad. 

"  I  took  him  into  a  very  thickety  place,  and 
made  him  back  up  agin  a  tree  and  put  back 
his  arms  around  it.  Then  I  took  one  o'  his 
suspenders  and  tied  him  hard  and  fast.  Then 
I  gagged  him  with  my  handkerchief.  So  far, 
so  good. 


124         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"  Here  come  the  train  slowly  backing  down, 
the  brakesman  a  swinging  lanterns,  and  the 
passengers  all  swarming  onto  the  platforms. 
Poorty  soon  they  stopped  right  opposite  ns. 
The  conductor  began  to  struggle.  I  poked  the 
pistol  in  his  face  and  jammed  the  gag  furder 
into  his  mouth.  He  saw  I  meant  work  and  got 
quiet. 

"  The  passengers  was  swarming  off  'n  the 
train  and  I  saw  'at  I  must  git  about  poorty 
fast  if  I  was  to  do  anything.  I  soon  hit  on  a 
plan.  I  jist  stepped  back  apiece  out  o'  sight  o' 
the  conductor  and  turned  my  coat,  which  was 
one  o'  these  two-sided  affairs,  one  side  white, 
t'other  brown.  I  turned  the  white  side  out. 
Then  I  flung  away  my  greasy  skull  cap  and 
took  a  soft  hat  out  'n  my  pocket  and  put  it  on. 
Then  I  watched  my  chance  and  mixed  in  with 
the  passengers  who  was  a  hunting  for  the  con- 
ductor. 

"Strange  what's  become  o'  him,"  says  I  to 
a  fat  man,  who  was  puffing  along. 

"Dim  strange,  dim  strange,"  says  the  big 
fellow,  in  a  keen,  wheezing  voice. 

"  Well,  you  never  saw  jist  sich  hunting  as 
was  done  for  that  conductor.  Everybody 
slopped  around  in  the  swamp  till  their  clothes 
was  as  wet  and  muddy  as  mine.    I  was  mon- 


STEALING  A  CONDUCTOR.  125 

strous  active  in  the  search.  I  hunted  every- 
where 'cepting  where  the  conductor  was. 
Finally  he  got  the  gag  spit  out  and  lordy  how 
he  did  squeal  for  help.  Everybody  rushed  to 
him  and  soon  had  him  free. 

u  It  tickled  me  awful  to  hear  that  conductor 
explaining  the  matter.  He  told  it  something 
like  this : 

"  Devil  of  a  great  big  ruffian  on  hind  plat- 
form. Asked  him  for  ticket.  Eefused.  Tried 
to  put  him  off.  Grabbed  me.  Smashed  my 
nose.    Flung  me  off.     Pulled  the  bell-rope, 

then  lit  out  on  me.    Mauled out  o'  me. 

Had  a  pistol  two  feet  long.  Made  me  pray. 
Heard  train  a  coming.  Took  me  to  swamp. 
Tied  me  and  sloped.  Lord  but  I'm  glad  to  see 
you  all !" 

"  We  all  went  aboard  o'  the  train  and  I  rode 
to  Savanny  onmolested.  The  conductor  didn't 
mistrust  me.  He  asked  me  for  my  check  and 
I  told  him  'at  I'd  lost  it  a  thrashing  round  in 
the  bushes  a  hunting  him.   That  was  all  right. 

u  When  we  got  to  Savanny  I  couldn't  help 
letting  the  conductor  knowT  me,  so  as  I  passed 
down  the  steps  of  the  car  I  whispered  savagely 
in  his  ear : 

"  Ticket !  dod  blast  you !" 

"  He  tried  to  grab  me  as  I  shambled  off  into 
11* 


126         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

the  crowd,  but  I  knowed  the  ropes.  I  heard 
liim  a  shoutin' — 

" There  he  goes!  Ketch  him,  dern  liiin9 
ketch  him  P    But  they  didn't. 

"  That  conductor's  name  was  Fuller,  and  I 
swear,  stranger,  'at  you  look  jest  like  him !  Gi' 
me  a  match,  will  you,  my  pipe's  out.  Thanky. 
Hope  I  ha'n't  bored  you.    Good  bye  all." 

He  shambled  out  and  I  never  saw  him  again. 


|foiDEt(. 


The  house  was  known  as  Eackenshack 
throughout  the  neighborhood  for  miles  around. 
It  was  a  frame  structure,  originally  of  sorry 
workmanship,  at  least  thirty  years  old,  and 
upon  which  not  a  cent's  worth  of  repairing  had 
been  done  since  first  erected,  wherefore  the 
name  was  peculiarly  appropriate.  It  was  not 
only  old,  rickety,  paintless,  half  rotten  and 
sadly  sunken  at  one  end,  but  the  fencing 
around  the  place  was  broken,  grown  over  with 
weeds,  and  slanted  in  as  many  ways  as  there 
were  panels.  The  lawn  or  yard  in  front  of  the 
house  had  some  old  cherry  trees,  gnarled  and 
decaying,  growing  in  what  had  once  been 
straight  rows,  but  storms  and  more  insidious 
vicissitudes  had  twisted  and  curled  them 
about  till  they  looked  as  though  they  had  been 
thrown  end  foremost  at  the  ground  haphazard. 
Under  and  all  round  these  trees  young  sprouts, 
from  the  scattered  cherry  seeds  of  many  years 
of  fruiting,  had  grown  so  thick  that  one  could 
with  difficulty  get  through  them.    A  narrow, 


128         A  BOOK  OF  IIOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

well-beaten  path  led  from  the  gate,  which 
lazily  lolled  on  one  hinge,  up  to  the  decayed 
and  sunken  porch,  in  front  of  which  was  the 
well,  with  its  lop-eared  windlass  and  dilapi- 
dated curb  and  shed. 

A  country  thoroughfare,  one  of  the  old  State 
roads  leading  westward  to  a  ferry  on  the  Wa- 
bash river  near  the  village  of  Attica  and  east- 
ward to  either  Crawfordsville,  Indianapolis  or 
Lafayette.  This  road  was  in  the  direct  line  of 
emigration,  and  in  the  proper  seasons  long  lines 
of  covered  wagons  rolled  past,  the  drivers,  a 
jolly  set,  hallooing  to  each  other  and  bandying 
sharp  wit  and  rude  sarcasm  at  the  expense  of 
Backenshack.  Poor  old  house,  it  leered  at  the 
passers,  with  its  windows  askew,  and  clattered 
its  loose  boards  and  battered  shutters  in  utter 
and  complacent  defiance  of  all  their  jeers ! 

Eackenshack  belonged  to  Luke  Plunkett 
and  Betsy,  his  sister ;  the  latter  an  old  maid 
beyond  all  cavil,  the  former  a  bachelor  of  about 
thirty.  The  lands  of  the  estate  were  pretty 
broad,  comprising  some  two  thousand  acres 
of  rich  prairie  and  "  river  bottom"  land,  which 
had  been  kept  in  a  much  better  state  of  im- 
provement than  the  house  had.  In  fact,  Luke 
was  considered  a  careful,  industrious,  frugal 
farmer.    He  had  large,  well  regulated  bams 


HOIDEN.  129 

and  stock  sheds  and  stables— plenty  of  fine 
horses,  cattle,  hogs,  sheep  and  mules,  all  well 
fed  and  cared  for,  and  it  was  generally  under- 
stood that  he  had  a  pretty  round  deposit  in  a 
bank. 

Perhaps  'Squire  Rube  Fink,  sometimes  called 
"  the  Rev.  Major  Fink"  and  sometimes  "Talk- 
ing Rube,"  gives  the  best  description  of  Luke's 
condition,  habits  and  surroundings,  that  I  can 
ofier.  It  is  truthful  and  singularly  graphic. 
He  says : 

"  Luke  Plunkett's  no  fool  if  he  does  live  at 
Rack-a-me-shack  and  'spect  the  ole  rotten  tab- 
ernacle to  fall  down  on  him  every  time  a  roos- 
ter crows  close  by.  That  feller's  long-headed, 
he  is.  To  be  sure,  sartinly,  his  barn's  a  dern 
sight  better  'n  his  house,  but  his  head's  level, 
for,  d'ye  see,  that's  the  way  to  make  money. 
A  house  don't  never  make  no  money  for  a  fel- 
ler—it's not  hin'  but  dead  capital  to  put  money 
into  a  fine  dwellin'.  Luke's  pilin'  his  money  in 
the  bank.  He's  been  doin'  a  sharp  thing  in 
wheat  and  live  stock  at  Cincinnati,  and  I  guess 
he  knows  wha.t  he's  about.  He  don't  keer 
about  what  sort  o'  house  he  lives  in.  But  I 
tell  you  that  red  haired  sister  o'  his'n  is  light- 
ning. She's  what  bosses  the  job  all  round  that 
ole  shanty  j  but  she  can't  red-hair  it  over  Luke 


130  A  BOOK   OF  HOOSTER  MOSAICS. 

in  the  farm  matters.  He  lias  his  own  way. 
He's  so  quiet  and  peculiar;  a  still,  say  nothin', 
bull-clog  sort  o'  man  he  is." 

Indeed,  Luke  was  one  of  that  quiet  sort  of 
men  who,  without  ever  once  loudly  asserting  a 
right  or  disputing  any  word  you  say,  invari- 
ably go  ahead  on  their  ownjudgment  and  carry 
their  point  in  everything.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  a  man  of  fine,  generous  nature  at  bottom, 
a  good  brother  and  a  worthy  friend. 

But  it  was  with  Luke  just  as  it  is,  more  or 
less,  with  us  all.  He  absorbed  into  his  life  the 
spirit  of  his  surroundings.  He  grew  somewhat 
to  resemble  Rackenshack  in  outward  appear- 
ance. He  became  slovenly  in  his  dress  and 
let  his  hair  and  beard  grow  wild.  His  natu- 
rally handsome  face  gradually  took  on  a  sort  of 
good  humored  ugliness,  and  his  heavy  shoulders 
slanted  over  like  the  uneven  gables  of  his  house 
He  became  an  inveterate  chewer  and  smoker 
of  tobacco.  What  time  a  quid  of  the  weed 
was  not  in  his  mouth,  the  short  thick  stem  of  a 
dark,  nicotine-coated  briar-root  pipe  took  its 
place  there. 

Luke  was  an  early  riser  j  therefore  it  hap- 
pens that  our  story  properly  begins  on  a  fine 
June  morning,  just  before  sunrise.  The  birds 
seemed  to  suspect  that  a  story  was  to  date 


HOIDEN.  131 

from  that  hour,  for  they  were  up  earlier  than 
usual  and  made  a  great  rustle  of  wings  and  a 
sweet  Babel  of  voices  in  the  old  cherry  trees. 
There  were  the  oriole,  the  cat  bird,  the  yellow 
throat,  the  brown  thrush  and  the  red  bird,  all 
putting  forth  at  once  their  chariningest  efforts. 
The  old  cherry  trees,  knee  deep  in  the  foliage 
of  their  under  growing  seedlings,  gleamed 
dusky  green  in  the  early  light,  as  Luke,  bare- 
headed, barefooted  and  in  his  "  shirt  sleeves," 
as  the  phrase  goes,  issued  from  the  front  door 
of  Rackenshack,  and  walked  down  the  path 
across  the  yard  to  the  gate  at  the  road.  Of 
late  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  "  taking  a 
smoke  "  the  first  thing  after  getting  up  in  the 
morning,  and  somehow  the  gate,  though  off 
one  hinge  and  having  doubtful  tenure  of  the 
other,  was  his  favorite  thing  to  lean  upon 
while  watching  the  whiffs  of  blue  smoke  slowly 
float  away. 

On  this  particular  morning  he  seemed  a  lit- 
tle agitated ;  and,  indeed,  he  was  vexed  more 
deeply  than  he  had  ever  before  been.  Just 
the  preceding  evening  he  had  learned  that  a 
corps  of  civil  engineers  were  rapidly  approach- 
ing his  premises  with  a  liue  of  survey,  and 
that  the  purpose  was  to  locate  and  build  a 
railway  right  through  the  middle  of  his  farm. 


132  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

To  Luke  the  very  idea  was  outrageous.  He 
felt  that  he  could  never  stand  such  an  imposi- 
tion. His  land  was  his  own,  and  when  he 
wanted  it  dug  up  and  leveled  down  and  a  track 
laid  across  it  he  would  do  it  himself.  He  did 
not  want  his  farm  cut  in  two,  his  fields  dis- 
arranged and  his  fences  moved,  nor  did  he 
wish  to  see  his  live  stock  killed  by  locomotives. 
The  truth  is  he  was  bitterly  opposed  to  rail- 
roads, any  how.  They  were  innovations.  They 
were  enemies  to  liberty.  They  brought  fashion, 
and  spendthrift  ways,  and  speculation,  and  all 
that  along  with  them.  Other  folks  might  have 
railroads  if  they  wanted  them,  but  they  must 
not  bother  him  with  them.  He  could  take  care 
of  his  affairs  without  any  railroads.  Besides, 
if  he  wanted  one  he  could  build  it.  He  hung 
heavily  upon  the  gate,  thinking  the  matter 
over,  and  would  not  have  bestowed  a  second 
glance  at  the  carriage  that  came  trundling 
past  if  he  had  not  caught  the  starry  flash  of  a 
pair  of  blue  eyes  and  a  rosy,  roguish  girl's  face 
within.  The  beauty  of  that  countenance  struck 
the  great  rough  fellow  like  a  blow.  He  stared 
in  a  dazed,  bewildered  way.  He  took  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth  and  involuntarily  tried  to  hide 
his  great  big  bare  feet  behind  the  gate  post. 
He  felt  a  queer,  dreamy  thrill  steal  all  over 


hoiden.  133 

him.  It  was  his  first  definite  impression  of 
feminine  beauty.  Instautly  that  round,  happy, 
mischievous  face,  with  its  dimples  and  inde- 
scribable shining  lines  of  half  latent  mirth,  set 
itself  in  his  heart  forever. 

The  carriage  trundled  on  in  the  direction  of 
the  ferry.  Luke  followed  it  with  his  eyes  till 
it  disappeared  round  a  turn  in  the  road ;  then 
he  put  the  pipe  to  his  mouth  again  and  began 
puffing  vigorously,  wagging  his  head  in  a  way 
tbat  indicated  great  confusion  of  mind.  There 
are  times  when  a  glimpse  of  a  face,  the  sud- 
den half-masteriug  of  a  new,  grand  idea,  a 
view  of  a  rare  landscape  or  even  a  cadence  iu 
some  new  tune,  will  start  afresh  the  long  dried 
up  wells  of  a  beart.  Something  like  this  had 
happened  to  Luke. 

kt  Sich  a  gal !  sich  a  gal!"  he  murmured  from 
the  corner  of  his  mouth  opposite  his  pipe  stem. 
"  I  don't  guess  I'm  a  dream  in' now,  though  I 
feel  a  right  smart  like  it.  I  hev  dreamed  of 
that  'ere  face  tbough,  many  of  times.  I've 
l^ed  it  in  my  sleep  a  thousand  times,  but  I 
never  s'posed  'at  I'd  see  it  shore  enough  when 
I'd  be  awake !  Sweetest  dreams  I  ever  had — 
sweetest  face  God  ever  made !  I  wonder  who 
she  is  F  As  if  to  supplement  Luke's  soliloquy 
at  this  point,  a  cardinal  red  bird  fluug  out 
12 


134         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

from  the  dusky  depths  of  the  oldest  cherry- 
tree  an  ecstatic  carol,  and  a  swallow,  swooping 
down  from  the  clear  purple  heights,  almost 
touched  the  man's  cheek  with  its  shining 
wings,  and  the  sun  lifted  its  flaming  face  in 
the  east  and  flooded  the  fields  with  gold. 

Luke  turned  slowly  toward  the  old  house. 
The  breeze  that  came  up  with  the  sun  poured 
through  the  orchard  with  a  broad,  joyous 
surge,  while  something  like  blowing  of  strange 
winds  and  streaming  of  soft  sunlight  made 
strangely  happy  the  inner  world  of  the  smit- 
ten Hoosier.  His  big  strong  heart  fluttered 
mysteriously.  He  actually  took  his  pipe  from 
his  lips  and  broke  into  a  snatch  of  merry  song, 
that  startled  Betsy,  his  sister,  from  her  morn- 
ing nap. 

For  the  time  the  hated  railroad  survey  was 
forgotten.  The  landscape  at  Baekenshack,  as 
if  by  a  turn  of  the  great  prisms  of  nature, 
suddenly  took  on  rainbow  hues.  The  fields 
flashed  with  jewels,  and  the  woods,  a  wall  of 
dusky  emerald,  were  wrapped  in  a  roseate 
mist,  stirred  into  dreamy  motion  by  the  breeze. 
A  light,  grateful  fragrance  seemed  to  pervade 
all  space,  as  if  flung  from  the  sun  to  soften  and 
enhance  the  charm  of  his  gift  of  light  and  heat. 
Such  a  hold  did  all  this  take  upon  Luke,  and 


HOIDEN.  135 

so  utterly  abstracted  was  he,  that  when  break- 
fast was  ready  Betsy  was  obliged  to  remind 
him  of  the  fact  that  he  had  neglected  to  wash 
his  face  and  hands,  and  comb  his  hair  and 
beard — things  absolutely  prerequisite  to  eating 
at  her  table. 

" Forgot  it,  sure's  the  world,"  said  Luke; 
u  don't  know  what  ever  possessed  nie.'' 

"  Maybe  you've  forgot  to  turn  the  cows  into 
the  milk  stalls,  tooF  said  Betsy. 

"  If  I  ha'n't  Fin  a  gourd !"  and  Luke  scratched 
his  head  distractedly. 

"What  'd  I  tell  you,  Luke  Plunkett?  It's 
come  at  last,  O  lordy !  You're  as  crazy  as  a 
June  bug  all  along  of  smoking  that  old  pipe ! 
Rot  the  nasty,  stinking  old  thing !  It's  a  per- 
fect shame,  Luke,  for  a  man  to  just  smoke 
what  little  brains  he's  got  clean  out.  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  so  you 
ought!" 

While  she  was  speaking  Betsy  got  the  big- 
wooden  washbowl  for  her  brother,  whereupon 
he  proceeded  to  make  his  ablutions  in  a  most 
energetic  way,  taking  up  great  double  hand- 
fuls  of  water  and  sousing  his  face  therein  with 
loud  puffings,  that  enveloped  his  head  in  a 
cloud  of  spray. 

When  a  clean  tow  linen  towel  had  served 
its  purpose,  Luke  remarked : 


136         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"  Don't  know  but  what  I  am  some'at  crazy 
in  good  earnest,  Betsy,  since  I  come  to  think 
it  all  over.  I'm  r'ally  onto  it  a  right  smart. 
What  U  you  think,  Betsy,  if  I'd  commence 
talkin'  'onian  to  ye  ?" 

"Luke,  Luke!  are  you  crazy?  Is  your 
mind  clean  gone  out  of  your  poor  smoky 
head!" 

u  That's  not  much  of  a  answer  to  my  ques- 
tion." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  mean,  anyhoiv  f" 

"  I  mean  business^  that's  what !" 

"Luke!" 

"Yes'm." 

u  Do  try  to  act  sensible  now.  What  is  it, 
Luke  ?  What  makes  your  eyes  look  so  strange 
and  dance  about  so?  What  do  you  mean  by 
all  this  queer  talk?" 

Luke  finished  combing,  and,  going  to  the 
table,  sat  down  and  was  proceeding  to  discuss 
the  fried  chicken  and  coffee  without  further 
remark,  but  Betsy  was  not  so  easily  balked. 
She,  like  most  red  haired  women,  wished  her 
questions  to  be  fully  and  immediately  an- 
swered, wherefore  some  indications  of  a  storm 
began  to  appear. 

Luke  smiled  a  quiet  little  smile  that  had 
hard   work  getting   out   through   his  beard. 


HOIDEN.  137 

Betsy  trotted  her  foot  under  the  table.  Her 
hand  trembled  as  she  poured  the  coffee — trem- 
bled so  violently  that  she  scalded  her  left 
thumb.  It  was  about  time  for  Luke  to  speak 
or  have  trouble,  so,  in  a  very  gentle  voice,  he 
said  : 

"  Well,  I  saw  a  gal— a  gal  an'  her  father,  I 
reckon — go  by  this  morn  in'." 

"Well,  what  of  it?  S'pose  there's  plenty 
of  girls  and  their  fathers,  ain't  there?"  snapped 
Betsy. 

Luke  drew  a  chicken  leg  through  his  mouth, 
laid  down  the  bone,  leered  comically  at  his 
sister  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  and 
said : 

"  But  the  gal  was  purty,  Betsy— purty  as  a 
pictur',  sweet  as  a  peach,  juicy  an'  temptin' 
as  a  ripe,  red  cored  watermillion !  You  can't 
begin  to  guess  how  sweet  an'  nice  she  did 
look.  My  heart  just  flolloped  and  flopped 
about,  an'  it's  at  it  yet !" 

"Luke  Plunkett,  you  are  crazy!  You're 
just  as  distracted  as  a  blind  dog  in  high  rye. 
Drink  a  cup  of  hot  coffee,  Luke,  and  go  lie 
down  a  bit,  you'll  feel  better."  The  spinster 
was  horrified  beyond  measure.  She  really 
thought  her  brother  crazy. 

The  man  finished  his  meal  in  silence,  smiling 
12* 


138  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

the  while  more  grimly  than  before,  after  which 
he  took  his  shot  gun  and  a  pan  of  salt  and 
trudged  off  to  a  distant  field  to  salt  some  cat- 
tle. He  always  carried  his  gun  with  him  on 
such  occasions,  and  not  unfrequently  brought 
back  a  brace  of  partridges  or  some  young 
squirrels.  As  he  strode  along,  thinking  all 
the  time  of  the  girl  in  the  carriage,  he  sudden- 
ly came  upon  a  corps  of  engineers  with  transit, 
level,  rod  and  chain,  staking  out,  through  the 
centre  of  a  choice  field,  a  line  of  survey  for  a 
railroad.  In  an  instant  he  Avas  like  a  roaring 
lion.  He  glared  for  a  second  or  so  at  the  in- 
truders, then  lowering  his  gun  he  charged 
them  at  a  run,  storming  out  as  he  did  so  : 

"What  you  doin'  here,  you  onery  cusses, 
you !  Leave  here !  Get  out !  Scratch !  Sift ! 
Dern  yer  onery  skins,  I'll  shoot  every  dog  of 
ye !     Git  out  rn  here,  I  say— out,  out !" 

The  corps  stampeded  at  once.  The  surveyor 
seized  his  transit,  the  leveller  his  level,  the 
rod  man  his  rod,  the  axe  men  and  chain  men 
their  respective  implements,  and  away  they 
went,  "  lick-to-split,  like  a  passel  o'  scart  hogs," 
as  Luke  afterwards  said,  "as  fast  as  they 
could  ever  wiggle  along !" 

No  wonder  they  ran,  for  Luke  looked  like  a 
demon  of  destruction.    It  was  a  wild  race  for 


HOIDEN.  139 

the  line  fence,  a  full  half  mile  away.  The 
leveler,  being  the  hindmost  man,  rolled  over 
this  fence  just  as  a  heavy  bowlder,  hurled  by 
Luke,  struck  the  top  rail.  It  was  a  close  shave, 
a  miss  of  a  hair's  breadth,  a  marvelous  escape. 
Luke  rushed  up  to  the  fence  and  glared  over 
at  his  intended  victims.  Here  he  knew  ho 
must  stop,  for  he  doubted  the  legality  of  pur- 
suing them  beyond  the  confines  pf  his  own 
premises.  Somewhat  out  of  breath  he  leaned 
on  the  fence  and  proceeded  to  swear  at  the 
corps  individually  and  collectively,  shaking  his 
fists  at  them  excitedly,  till  the  appearance  of 
a  new  man  on  the  scene  made  him  start  and 
stare  as  if  looking  at  a  ghost.  He  was  a  well 
'  dressed,  gentlemanly  appearing  person  of  about 
the  age  of  forty-five,  pale  and  thoughtful- 
calm,  gray  eyed,  commanding.  Luke  recog- 
nized him  at  once  as  the  man  he  had  seen  in 
the  carriage,  and,  indeed,  the  vehicle  itself 
stood  hard  by,  with  a  beautiful,  laughing, 
roguish  face  looking  out  of  one  of  the  windows. 
The  lion  in  the  stalwart  farmer  was  quelled  in 
an  instant.  He  felt  his  legs  grow  weak.  He 
set  his  gun  by  the  fence  and  touched  his  hat 
to  the  little  lady. 

"  Your  name,  I  believe,  is  Luke  PlunkeM?" 
said  the  approaching  gentleman. 


140         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIEB  MOSAICS. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Luke. 

"  You  own  two  thousand  acres  of  land  here  V 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Your  residence  is  called  Rackenskack  V> 

u  Yes,  sir."  ( Suppressed  titter  from  the  car- 
riage.) 

"  So  I  thought.  Pull  back,  men  (address- 
ing the  corps),  pull  back  to  where  you  dropped 
the  line  and  bring  it  right  along.  Mr.  Plunkett 
will  not  harm  you  now." 

The  corps  began  to  move.  Luke  fiercely 
seized  his  gun ;  but  before  he  could  lift  it  or 
utter  a  word,  a  ten -inch  Colt's  repeater  was 
thrust  into  his  face  by  the  calm  gentleman, 
and  a  steady  hand  held  it  there. 

"  Mr.  Plunkett,"  said  the  man,  "  I  am  the 

chief  engineer  of  the Eailroad.     I  am 

making  a  location.  The  laws  of  this  State 
give  me  the  right  to  go  upon  your  land  with 
my  corps  and  have  the  survey  made.  I  am 
not  to  be  trifled  with.  If  you  offer  to  cock 
that  gun  I'll  put  six  holes  through  you.  What 
do  you  say,  now  f1 

The  voice  was  that  of  a  cold  man  of  busi- 
ness. There  was  a  coffin  in  every  word.  The 
muzzle  of  the  pistol  steadily  covered  Luke's 
left  eye.  The  situation  was  rigid.  Luke  hesi- 
tated— his  face  ashy  with  anger  and  fear,  his 


HOIDEN.  141 

eyes  alternating  their  glances  between  the 
muzzle  of  the  pistol  and  that  wonderful  shin- 
ing face  at  the  carriage. 

"  Sboot  him,  papa,  shoot  him  !  Shoot  him  !" 
Sweet  as  a  silver  bell  rang  out  the  girl's  voice, 
more  like  a  ripple  of  idle  song  than  a  murder- 
ous request,  and  then  a  clear,  happy  laugh 
went  echoing  off  through  the  woods  in  which 
the  carriage  stood. 

Slowly,  steadily,  Luke  let  fall  the  breech  of 
his  gun  upon  the  ground  beside  him.  The 
engineer  smiled  grimly  and  lowered  his  pistol, 
while  the  corps,  headed  by  the  surveyor,  took 
up  its  line  of  march  to  the  point  where  work  had 
been  so  suddenly  left  off. 

The  young  lady  clapped  her  tiny  white  hands 
for  joy. 

A  big  black  woodpecker  began  to  cackle  in  a 
tree  hard  by. 

Luke  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dream. 

The  whole  adventure,  so  far,  had  been* 
clothed  in  most  unreal  seeming. 

It  can  hardly  be  told  how,  by  rapid  transi- 
tions from  one  thing  to  another  in  his  talk, 
the  engineer  drew  Luke's  mind  away  from  the 
late  difficulty  and  gradually  aroused  in  him  a. 
kindly  feeling.  In  less  than  ten  minutes  the 
two  men  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  a  log,. 


142         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

smoking  cigars  from  the  engineer's  pouch  and 
chatting  calmly,  amicably. 

Luke's  eyes  often  rested  steadily  fixed  in  the 
direction  of  the  carriage.  Through  the  thin 
veil  of  tobacco  smoke  the  face  of  the  young 
girl  seemed  to  the  farmer  angelic  in  its  beauty. 
All  around  the  sweets  of  summer  rose  and 
fell,  and  drifted  like  scarcely  visible  shining 
mists,  fraught  with  the  spice  of  leaf  and  per- 
fume of  blossom,  agitated  by  swells  of  tricksy 
wind,  going  on  and  on  to  the  mysterious  goal 
of  the  season. 

The  two  men  talked  on  until  the  corps  had 
pushed  the  line  of  survey  far  past  them  into 
the  cool,  shady  deeps  of  the  woods,  whence 
their  voices  came  back  fainter  and  fainter 
every  moment.  At  length  the  engineer  arose, 
and  stretching  out  his  hand  to  Luke,  said  : 

u  Mr.  Plunkett,  I'm  sure  I'll  be  able  to  serve 
you  some  time ;  let  us  be  friends.  I  shall  be  in 
this  vicinity  most  of  the  time  till  the  road  is 
built.  No  doubt  I  can  show  a  way  to  profit  by 
the  construction  of  a  railroad  across  your  land. 
If  you  are  sharp  it  will  make  your  fortune.  I 
like  your  independent  way,  sir,  and  hope  to 
know  you  better.    Here  is  my  card." 

Luke  took  the  bit  of  pasteboard  without 
saying  a  word.  They  shook  hands  and  the 
engineer  got  into  his  carriage. 


HOIDEN.  143 

"  Here's  my  card,  too,  Mr.  Plunkett,"  cried 
the  girl.  She  said  something  more,  but  the 
horses  were  made  to  plunge  rapidly  away,  and 
the  words  were  lost ;  but  the  flash  of  a  white 
jewelled  band  caught  Luke's  eye  as  a  delicately 
tinted  card  came  fluttering  towards  him.  He 
sprang  and  seized  it.  If  a  bag  of  diamonds 
had  been  flung  at  his  feet  he  could  not  have 
been  more  excited.  His  hands  trembled.  All 
the  incidents  of  the  only  fairy  tale  he  had  ever 
read  came  at  once  into  his  mind.  He  stood 
with  his  feet  turned  in,  like  some  great  awk- 
ward boy,  a  bashful,  shame-faced  look  lurking 
about  his  mouth  and  eyes.  He  filled  his  pipe 
and  lighted  it  from  the  stump  of  his  cigar  with 
nervous  eagerness.  A  squirrel  came  down  to 
the  lowest  limbs  of  a  beech  tree  hard  by  and 
barked  at  him,  but  he  did  not  notice  it.  He 
read  the  names  on  the  cards : 

"Elliot  Pearl,  C.  E» 
"  Hoiclcn  Pearl" 

The  first  printed  in  small  capitals,  the  second 
written  in  a  delicate,  rather  cramped  feminine 
hand.  He  stood  for  a  long  time  dreamily  em- 
ployed in  turning  these  bits  of  paper  over  and 
over.  His  thoughts  were  so  vague  in  outline 
and  so  dim  in  filling  up  that  they  cannot  be 
reproduced.    They  slipped  away  on  the  sum- 


144         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

mer  air,  like  little  puffs  of  perfume,  and  were 
lost,  to  be  found  by  many  and  many  a  one  in 
the  ineffable  places  of  dreamland.  Finally, 
shaking  himself  as  if  to  break  the  charm  that 
held  him  in  its  meshes,  he  took  up  his  gun  and 
slowly  made  his  way  homeward.  All  along  his 
walk  he  kept  smiling  to  himself  and  talking 
aloud,  but  his  words  were  such  that  it  would 
be  sacrilege  to  repeat  them  now.  Let  them 
hover  about  in  the  sunlight  of  summer,  where 
he  uttered  them,  as  things  too  delicate  to  be 
pressed  between  the  lids  of  a  book. 
.  Betsy  had  trouble  with  Luke  for  some  days 
after  this.  He  lay  about  the  house,  saying  little, 
eating  little,  giving  little  attention  to  the  many 
tenants  who  worked  his  estate.  He  was  in  good 
health,  was  not  in  trouble  (so  he  said  to  his 
sister),  but  he  did  not  care  to  be  bothered  with 
business.  He  was  tired  and  would  rest  awhile. 
"He  smoked  pretty  near  all  the  time,"  as 
Betsy  declared.  But  not  a  hint  fell  from  his 
lips  as  to  what  might  be  running  in  his  mind. 
So  the  days  slipped  past  till  July  hung  golden 
mists  on  the  horizon  and  filled  the  woods  with 
that  rare  stillness  and  dusky  slumbrousness 
that  follows  the  maturing  of  the  foliage  and  the 
coming  on  of  fruit.  The  cherry  trees  at  Eack- 
enshack  had  grown  ragged  and  dull,  and  the 


IIOIDKN.  145 

birds,  excepting  a  few  swallows  wheeling  about 
the  old  chimney  tops,  had  all  flown  away  to 
the  woods  and  fields.  The  wheat  had  been 
cut  and  stacked,  the  com  had  received  its  last 
ploughing.  Still  Luke  hung  about  the  house 
annoying  Betsey  with  his  pipe  and  his  utter 
carelessness.  That  he  was  "  distracted  »  Betsy 
did  not  for  a  moment  doubt.  She  used  every 
means  her  small  stock  of  wit  could  invent  to 
urge  him  out  of  his  singular  mood,  but  with- 
out avail.  He  took  to  the  few  old  novels  he 
could  find  about  the  house,  but  sometimes  he 
would  gaze  blankly  at  a  single  paragraph  for 
a  whole  hour. 

One  morning  as  he  lay  on  the  porch,  his  head 
resting  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  reading,  or 
pretending  to  read  an  odd  volume  of  "The 
Scottish  Chiefs,"  a  little  boy,  'Squire  Brown's 
son,  came  to  briug  home  a  monkey-wrench  his 
father  had  borrowed  some  time  before.  The 
boy  was  a  bright,  rattle-box,  say-everything, 
pop-eyed  sort  of  child,  and  was  not  long  tell- 
ing all  the  news  of  the  neighborhood.  Luke 
gave  little  attention  to  what  he  was  saying, 
till  at  length  he  let  fall  something  about  a 
young  lady— a  fine,  rich  young  lady,  staying  at 
Judge  Barnett's — a  young  lady  who  could  out- 
run him,  out  jump  him,  beat  him  playing  raar- 
13 


146         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

bles  and  ball,  who  could  climb  away  up  in  the 
June  apple  tree,  who  could  ride  a  colt  bare- 
back, who  could  beat  Jim  Barnett  shooting  at 
a  mark,  who  could,  in  fact,  do  a  half  a  hundred 
things  to  perfection  that  strict  persons  would 
think  a  young  lady  should  never  do  at  all,  but 
which  seemed  to  make  a  heroine  of  her  in  the 
narrator's  boyish  view. 

"  What's  the  gal's  namef  queried  Luke  in 
a  slow,  lazy  way,  but  his  eyes  shot  a  gleam  of 
hope. 

"  Hoidy  Pearl,"  replied  the  lad. 

Hoiden  Pearl !  That  name  had  been  woven 
into  every  sound  that  had  reached  Luke's  ears 
for  days  and  nights  and  nights  together,  and 
now,  like  a  sweet  tune  nearly  mastered,  it  took 
a  deeper,  tenderer  meaning  as  the  boy  pro- 
nounced it  in  his  childish  way. 

"Hoidy  Pearl  is  her  name,"  the  lad  con- 
tinued. «  She's  come  to  stay  at  the  Judge's  all 
summer  till  the  new  railroad's  finished.  Her 
father's  the  boss  of  the  road.  She's  jest  the 
funniest  girl,  o-o-e !    And  she  likes  me,  too  !" 

Luke  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture  and 
looked  at  the  boy  so  earnestly  that  he  drew 
back  a  pace  or  two  as  if  afraid. 

a  Boy,  you're  not  lyin',  are  yef  said  the  man 
in  a  low,  earnest  tone. 


HOIDEN.  147 

«  No  I'm  not,  neither,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

Luke  sot  up,  flung  aside  his  book  and  strolled 
off  into  the  woods.    Wandering  there  in  the 
cool,  silent  places,  he  dreamed  his  dream.   For 
hours  he  sat  by  a  little  spring  stream  in  the 
dense  shadow  of  a  big  cotton-wood  tree.    The 
birds  congregated  about  him,  and  chirped  and 
sang;  the  squirrels  came  out  chattering  and 
frisking  from  branch  to  branch ;  but  he  gave 
them  no  look  of  recognition— he  saw  them  not, 
heard  them  not.     The  birds  might  have  lit 
upon  his  head  and  the  squirrels  might  have 
run  in  and  out  of  his  pockets  with  impunity. 
He  smoked  all  the  time,  refilling  and  relight- 
ing his  pipe  whenever  it  burned  out.    He  did 
not  know  how  much  he  was  smoking,  nor  that 
he  was  smoking  at  all.    A  bright  face  set  in  a 
mass  of  yellow  curls,  a  wee  white  hand  all 
spangled  with  jewels,  a  voice  sweeter  than  any 
bird's,   a  name— Hoiden   Pearl— these  rang, 
and  danced,  and  echoed,  and  shone  in  the  re- 
cesses of  his  brain  and  heart  to  the  exclusion 
of  all  else.     Ho  was  trying  to  think,  but  he 
could  not.     He  wanted  to  mature  a  plan,  but 
not  even  an  outline  could  find  room  in  his  head. 
It  was  full.    Strange,  indeed, it  may  seem,  that 
a  rough  farmer  of  Luke's  age  should  thus  fall 
into  the  ways  of  the  imaginative,  sentimental 


148         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIEK  MOSAICS. 

stripling ;  but,  after  all,  the  fit  must  come  on 
some  time  in  life.  No  donbt  it  goes  harder 
with  some  constitutions  than  with  others. 
Luke  may  have  been  unwittingly  strongly  pre- 
disposed that  way.  Neither  the  exterior  of 
a  man  nor  his  surroundings  will  do  to  judge 
him  by.  Nature  is  that  mysterious  in  all  her 
ways.  Luke  talked  aloud,  sometimes  gesticu- 
lating in  a  quiet  way. 

"  I  must  see  the  gal — I  will  see  the  gal,"  he 
muttered  at  last.  "It's  no  use  talkin',  I  jist 
will  s*ee  her P 

Suddenly  a  light  broke  from  his  face  He 
smiled  like  one  who  has  victory  in  his  grasp — 
like  an  editor  who  has  an  idea,  like  a  reviewer 
who  has  found  some  bad  verse.  He  got  up 
immediately,  went  back  to  the  barn,  hitched  a 
horse  to  a  small  road  wagon  and  drove  to  town. 
There  he  spent  time  and  money  with  a  mer- 
chant tailor  and  other  vendors  of  clothing. 
He  was  very  fastidious  in  his  selection.  Noth- 
ing but  the  finest  would  do  him.  A  few  days 
after  this  he  brought  home  a  trunk  full  of 
princely  raiment — broad  cloth  and  fine  linen. 
Betsy  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement  when 
the  trunk  was  opened.  A  dream  of  such  costly 
things,  such  reckless  extravagance,  would  have 
driven  her  mad.   Silent,  open-eyed,  wondering, 


HOIDEN.  149 

she  came  in  and  stood  behind  Luke  while  he 
was  unpacking.  He  looked  up  presently  and 
saw  her.  His  face  flushed  violently,  and  in  a 
half-whining,  half-ashamed  tone  he  muttered  : 

"  Now,  Betsy,  you  jest  git  out'n  here  faster'n 
ye  come  in,  for  I'm  not  goin'  to  stan'  no  foolin' 
at  all,  now.  These  'ere's  my  clothes  and  paid 
for  out'n  my  money,  an'  I'm  the  jedgeof  what 
I  need.  I  ha'n't  had  any  good  duds  for  a  long- 
time, and  I'm  tired  o'  look  in'  like  a  scarecrow 
made  out  'n  a  salt  bag.  I've  been  thinkin'  for 
a  long  time  I'd  git  these  'ere  things,  an'  now 
I've  got  'in.  You  kin  git  you  some  if  ye  like, 
but  I  don't  want  ye  a  standin'  round  here  gaw- 
pin'  at  me  on  'count  o'  my  clothes ;  so  you  go 
off  an'  mind  yer  own  affairs.  It's  no  great  sight 
to  see  some  shirts,  an'  coats,  and  pants,  an'  col- 
lars, an'  vests,  an'  sich  like,  is  it  F 

Before  this  speech  was  finished  Betsy  had 
backed  out  of  the  room  and  closed  the  door. 
As  she  did  so  she  let  go  a  sigh  that  came  back 
to  Luke  like  a  Parthian  arrow ;  but  it  happened 
just  then  that  he  was  holding  up  in  front  of 
him  a  buff  linen  vest  whieh  kept  the  missile 
from  his  heart. 

He  dressed  himself  with  great  care,  and  an 
hour  later  he  slipped  out  of  the  house  unseen, 
and  took  his  way  towards  the  rather  preten- 
13* 


150         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

tious  residence  of  Judge  Barnett,  the  gables 
of  which,  a  mile  away,  gleamed  between  rows 
of  Lombardy  poplars.  The  Judge  was  one  01 
those  half  cultivated  men  who,  in  every  coun- 
try neighborhood,  pass  for  prodigies  of  learn- 
ing and  ability.  He  was  the  autocrat  of  the 
county  iu  political  and  social  affairs — one  ot 
those  men  wiio  really  know  a  great  deal,  but 
who  arrogate  more.  He  got  his  title  from 
having  been  County  Commissioner  when  the 
court  house  was  building.  Some  said  he  made 
money  out  of  the  transaction,  but  our  story  is 
silent  there. 

It  would  have  been  an  interesting  study  for 
a  philosopher  to  have  watched  Luke  through- 
out the  singular  ramble  he  took  that  morning. 
It  would  have  been  such  a  manifest  revelation 
of  the  state  of  the  fellow's  feelings.  It  would 
have  minutely  disclosed,  and  more  eloquently 
than  any  verbal  confession,  the  rise  and  fall, 
the  ebb  and  flow,  the  alternating  strength  and 
weakness  of  his  purpose,  and  the  will  behind 
it.  Then,  too,  it  would  have  let  fall  delightful 
hints  of  the  unselfishness  of  his  new  and  all- 
engrossing  passion,  and  of  the  charming  sim- 
plicity and  sincerity  of  his  great  rugged  nature 
at  its  inner  core.  At  first  he  struck  out  boldly 
a  direct  line  to  Judge  Barnett's  residence,  his 


HOIDEN.  151 

face  beaming  with  the  light  of  settled  happi- 
ness, but  as  he  neared  the  pleasant  grounds 
burrounding  the  house  he  began  to  discover 
some  trepidation.  His  gait  wavered,  the  ex- 
pression of  his  face  shifted  with  each  step,  and 
soon  his  course  was  indeterminate — a  fitful 
sauntering  from  this  place  to  that — a  tricksy, 
uneven  flight,  like  that  of  a  lazy  butterfly,  if 
one  may  indulge  the  comparison — a  meander- 
ing in  and  out  among  the  trees  of  a  small  wal- 
nut grove — a  strolling  here  and  there,  now 
along  the  verge  of  a  well  set  old  orchard,  now 
down  the  low  hedge  behind  the  garden,  and 
anon  leaning  over  the  board  fence  that  in- 
closed the  Judge's  ample  barn  and  stable  lot ; 
he  gazed  wistfully,  half  comically,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  upper  windows  of  the  farm  house. 
It  was  one  of  those  peculiarly  yellow  days  of 
summer,  when  everything  swims  in  a  golden 
mist.  The  blue  birds  floated  aimlessly  about 
from  stake  to  stake  of  the  fences ;  the  wind, 
felt  only  in  jerky  puffs,  blew  no  particular 
way.  and  as  idly  and  as  eccentrically  as  any 
blue  bird,  and  in  full  accord  with  the  fitful  will 
of  the  wind,  Luke  drifted  through  the  sheen 
ol  summer  all  round  Barnett  Place.  He  lazed 
about,  humming  a  tune,  and,  for  a  wonder,  not 
smoking — half  restless,  half  contented,  looking 


152         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

for  something,  scarcely  expecting  anything. 
When  once  a  great  rough  man  does  get  into  a 
childish  way,  he  is  a  child  of  which  ordinary 
children  would  be  ashamed,  and  just  then 
Luke,  the  big  bashful  fellow,  was  an  instance 
strikingly  in  point.  Occasionally  he  talked 
half  aloud  to  himself.  Once,  while  lounging 
on  the  orchard  fence,  gazing  down  between  the 
long  rows  of  russet  and  pippin  trees,  he  said 
dreamily, 

"I  must  see  her.  I  can't  go  back  'ithout 
seein'  her."  It  so  chanced  that  just  then  a 
shower  of  blackbirds  fell  upon  the  orchard, 
covering  the  trees  and  the  ground,  flying  over 
and  over  each  other,  twittering  and  whistling 
as  only  blackbirds  can.  Their  wings  smote 
together  with  a  tender  rustling  sound  like  that 
of  a  spring  wind  in  young  foliage,  or  of  a 
thousand  lovers  whispering  together  by  moon- 
light. Luke  watched  them  a  long  while,  a 
doleful  shade  gathering  in  his  face.  "The 
little  things  loves  each  other/'  he  muttered  5 
" everything  loves  something;  an' jestdern  my 
lights  ef  I  don't  love  the  gal,  an'  I'm  boun'  to 
see  her !"  Seemingly  nerved  by  sudden  reso- 
lution, he  climbed  over  the  fence  and  started 
at  a  slashing  pace  across  the  orchard  towards 
the  house,  scaring  all  the  birds  into  an  ecstasy 


HOIDEN.  153 

of  flight,  so  that  they  dashed  themselves 
against  the  foliage  of  the  apple  trees,  making 
it  rustle  and  sway  as  if  blown  on  by  a  strong 
wind.  He  did  not  keep  on,  however.  His 
resolution  seemed  to  burn  out  about  midway 
the  orchard.  He  began  to  drift  around  again, 
his  pace  becoming  slower  and  slower.  His 
shoulders  drooped  forward  as  if  burdened 
with  a  great  load,  his  eyes  turned  restlessly 
from  side  to  side. 

"  I  jest  can't  do  it !"  he  murmured—"  I  jest 
can't  do  it,  an'  I  mought  as  well  go  back !" 
There  was  a  petulant  ring  to  his  voice — a 
nervous,  worried  tone,  that  had  despair  in  it. 

Out  of  a  June  apple  tree  right  over  his  head 
fell  a  sweet,  silvery,  half  child's,  half  woman's 
voice,  that  thrilled  hi::i  through  every  iibre  to 
the  marrow  of  his  bones. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Goosey  f  What  have 
you  lost  ?  What  are  you  hunting  for  ?  Want 
a  good  apple  f 

Luke  looked  up  just  in  time  to  catch  square- 
ly on  his  nose  a  fine,  ripe  June  apple,  and 
through  a  mist  of  juice  and  a  sheeny  curtain 
of  leaves  he  saw  the  lovely  face  he  had  come 
to  look  for.  A  thump  on  the  nose  from  an 
apple,  no  matter  if  it  is  ripe  and  soft,  is  a  little 
embarrassing,  and  it  only  makes  it  more  so 


154         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

when  the  racy  wine  of  the  fruit  flies  into  one's 
eyes  and  all  over  one's  new  clothes.  But  there 
are  moments  of  supreme  bliss  when  such  a 
mishap  passes  unnoticed.  Luke  felt  as  if  the 
blow  had  been  the  touch  of  a  magician  conjur- 
ing up  a  scene  that  held  him  rapt  and  speech- 
less. 

"O,  my!  I  didn't  go  to  hit  you!  Please 
excuse  me,  sir— do.  I  thought  you  'd  catch  it 
in  your  hands." 

She  came  lightly  down  from  the  tree,  de- 
scending like  a  bird,  easily,  gracefully,  as  if 
she  had  been  born  to  climb.     She  murmured 
many  apologies,  but  the  genius  of  fun  danced 
in  her  saucy,  almost  impertinent  eyes,  belying 
her  regretful  words.     Luke  looked   down  at 
her  dazed  and  speechless.     She,  however,  was 
full  of  prattle— half  childish,  half  womanly, 
half  serious,  half  bantering— her  eyes  upturned 
to  his,  her  voice  a  very  bird's  in  melody.     In 
the   more  innocent   sense   of  the   word   she- 
looked  like  her  name,  Hoiden.    Nothing  un- 
chaste or  indelicate  about  her  appearance,-  just 
a  sort  of  want  of  restraint;  a  freedom  that 
amounted  to  an  utter  lack  of  responsibility  to 
the  ordinary  claims  and  dictates  of  propriety. 
A  close,  trained,  intelligent  observer  would 
have  seen  at  once  that  she  was  wilful,  spoiled, 


HOIDEN.  155 

unbridled,  but  not  bad,  not  in  the  least  vicious ; 
really  innocent  and  full  of  good  impulses.  She 
was  beautiful,  too — wonderfully  beautiful— just 
on  the  hither  side  of  womanhood,  plump,  bud- 
ding, bewitching.  How  she  did  it  can  never 
be  known,  but  she  soon  had  Luke  racing  with 
lier  all  over  the  orchard.  They  climbed  trees 
together,  they  scrambled  for  the  same  apple, 
they  laughed,  and  shouted,  and  played  till  the 
horn  at  the  farmhouse  called  the  field  hands 
to  dinner.  They  parted  then,  as  children 
part,  promising  to  meet  again  the  next  day. 
The  girl's  checks  were  rosy  with  exercise,  so 
were  Luke's. 

How  strange!  Day  after  day  that  great, 
bearded,  almost  middle-aged,  uncouth  farmer 
went  and  played  slave  to  that  chit  of  a  girl, 
doing  whatever  ridiculous  or  childish  thing- 
she  proposed,  caring  for  nothing,  asking  for 
nothing  but  to  be  with  her,  listen  to  her  voice 
and  feast  his  eyes  upon  her  beauty.  He 
gladly  bore  everything  she  heaped  upon  him, 
and  to  be  called  "  Goosey"  by  her  was  to  him 
inexpressibly  charming. 

Betsy's  womanly  nature  was  not  to  be  de- 
ceived.    She  soon  comprehended  all ;  but  she 
dared  not  mention  the  subject  to  Luke.    He    ^ 
\\  ;i>  in  no  mood  to  be  opposed.    So  he  went 
on — and  Betsv  sighed. 


156  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

The   summer  softened  into  autumn.     The 
maple  leaves  reddened.    The  long  grass  turned 
brown  and  lolled  over.    A  softness  and  ten- 
derness lurked  in  the  deep  blue  sky,  and  the 
air  had  a  sharp  racy  fragrance  from  ripe  fruit 
and  grain.    Meantime  the  railroad  had  been 
pushed  with  amazing  rapidity  nearly  to  com- 
pletion.    Every  day  long  construction  trains 
went  crashing  across  Luke's  farm.    Passenger 
coaches  were  to  be  put  on  in  a  few  days.   Luke 
was  the  very  picture  of  happiness.    He  seemed 
to  grow  younger   every  day.      His  worldly 
prospects,  too,  were  flattering.    A  station  had 
been  located  on  his  land,  around  which  a  town 
had  already  begun  to  spring  up.    The  vast 
value  of  Luke's  timber,  walnut  and  oak,  was 
just  beginning  to  appear ;  indeed,  immense 
wealth  lay  in  his  hands.     But  his  happiness 
was  of  a  deeper  and  purer  sort  than  that  gene- 
rated by  simple  pecuniary  prosperity.     Hoiden 
Pearl  was  in  the  focus  of  all  his  thoughts  ; 
her  face  lighted  his  dreams,  her  voice  made 
the  music  that  charmed  him  into  a  wonder- 
land of  bliss.    He  said  little  about  her,  even 
to  Betsy,  but  it  needed  no  sharpness  of  sight 
to  discover  from  his  face  what  was  going  on 
in  his  heart.    He  had  even  forgotten  his  pipe. 
He  had  not  smoked  since  that  first  day  in  the 


HOTDEN.  157 

orchard.     He  bad  straightened  up  and  looked 
a  span  taller. 

The  girl  did  not  t eem  to  dream  of  any  tender 
attachment  on  Luke's  part.  In  fact  he  gave 
her  no  cause  for  it.  He  fed  on  his  love  in- 
wardly and  never  thought  of  telling  it.  To  be 
with  her  was  enough.  It  satisfied  all  his 
wants.  She  was  frank  and  free  with  him,  but 
tyrannized  over  him — ordered  him  about  like 
a  servant,  scolded  him,  flattered  him,  pouted 
at  him,  smiled  on  him,  indeed  kept  him  crazy 
with  rapture  all  the  time.  Once  only  she  be- 
came confidentially  communicative.  It  was 
one  day,  sitting  on  an  old  mossy  log  in  the 
Judge's  woodland  pasture,  she  told  him  the 
story  of  her  past  life.  How  thrilliugly  beauti- 
ful her  face  became  as  it  sobered  down  with 
the  history  of  early  orphanage!  Her  father 
had  died  first;  then  her  mother,  who  left  her 
four  years  old  in  the  care  of  Mr.  Pearl,  her 
paternal  uncle,  with  whom  she  had  ever  since 
been,  going  from  place  to  place,  as  the  calls  of 
his  nomadic  profession  made  it  necessary, 
from  survey  to  survey,  from  this  State  to  that, 
seeing  all  sorts  of  people,  and  receiving  her 
education  in  small,  detached  parcels.  The 
story  was  a  sad,  unsatisfactory  one,  breathing 
neglect,  yet  full  of  a  certain  kind  of  sprightli- 
14 


158  A  BOOK  OF  IIOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

ness,  and  touched  here  and  there  with  the 
fascination  of  true  romance. 

It  is  hard  to  say  when  Luke  would  have 
awakened  from  his  tender  trance  to  the  strong- 
reality  of  love.  He  was  too  contented  for  self- 
questioning,  and  no  act  or  word  of  Hoiden's 
invited  him  to  consider  what  he  was  doing  or 
whither  he  was  drifting. 

It  was  well  for  Luke  and  the  girl,  too,  that 
it  was  a  sparsely  settled  neighborhood,  for  evil 
tongues  might  have  made  much  of  their  con- 
stant companionship  and  childish  behavior. 

As  for  the  Judge,  after  it  was  all  over  he 
admitted  that  he  felt  some  qualms  of  con- 
science about  allowing  such  unlimited  intimacy 
to  go  on,  but  he  excused  himself  by  saying  that 
the  girl,  when  confined  to  the  house,  was  such 
an  unmitigated  nuisance  that  he  was  glad  for 
some  one  to  monopolize  her  company. 

"Why,"  said  he,  in  his  peculiar  way,  "she 
set  the  whole  house  by  the  ears.  She  made 
more  clatter  and  racket  than  a  four-horse  Penn- 
sylvania wagon  coming  down  a  rocky  hill. 
She  would  go  from  garret  to  cellar  like  a  whirl- 
wind and  twist  things  wrong  side  out  as  she 
went she  was  a  tart  V 

But  at  length,  toward  the  middle  of  autumn 
the  end  came.    Luke  had  business  with  some 


HOIDEN.  159 

hog-buyers  in  Cincinnati,  whither  he  was  gone 
several  days.  Meantime  the  railroad  was 
completed,  and  Mr.  Pearl  came  to  the  Judge's 
early  one  morning  and  called  for  Hoiden.  His 
business  with  his  employers  was  ended,  and 
lie  had  just  finished  an  arrangement  that  had 
long  been  on  foot  to  go  to  one  of  the  South 
American  States  and  take  charge  of  a  vast 
engineering  scheme  there.  The  girl  was  de 
lighted.  Such  a  prospect  of  travel  and  ad- 
venture was  enough  to  set  oue  of  her  tem- 
perament wild  with  enthusiasm.  She  flew  to 
packing  her  trunk,  her  face  radiant  with  joy. 

Only  an  hour  later  Mr.  Pearl  and  Hoiden 
stood  at  the  new  station  on  Luke's  land,  wait- 
ing for  the  east-going  train.  Mr.  Pearl  hap- 
pened to  think  of  a  business  message  he  wished 
to  leave  for  Luke,  so  he  went  into  the  depot 
building  and  wrote  it.  When  Hoiden  saw  the 
letter  was  for  Luke  she  begged  leave  to  put  in 
a  few  words  of  postscript,  and  she  had  her 
way. 

The  train  came  and  the  man  and  girl  were 
whirled  away  to  New  York,  and  thence  they 
took  ship  for  South  America,  never  to  return. 

Next  day  Luke  came  back,  bringing  with 
him  a  beautifully  carved  mahogany  box 
mounted  in   silver.      Betsy  met  him  at  the 


160         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

door,    and,    woman-like,    told    the    story   of 
Hoideu's  departure  almost  at  the  first  breath. 

u  Gone  all  the  way  to  South  America,"  she 
added,  after  premising  that  she  would  never 
return. 

A  peculiarly  grim,  grayish  smile  mantled 
the  face  of  Luke.  He  swallowed  a  time  or 
two  before  he  could  speak. 
i  "Come  now,  sis"  (he  always  said  "sis" 
when  he  felt  somewhat  at  Betsy's  mercy), 
"  ccme  now,  sis,  don't  try  to  fool  me.  I'm 
goin'  right  over  to  see  the  gal  now,  an'  I've 
got  what'll  tickle  her  awfully  right  here  in 
this  'ere  box." 

Out  in  the  yard  the  blue  jays  and  wood- 
peckers were  quarrelling  over  the  late  apples 
heaped  up  by  the  cider  mill.  The  sky  was 
clear,  but  the  sunlight,  coming  through  a 
smoky  atmosphere,  was  pale,  like  the  smile  of 
a  sick  man.  The  wind  of  autumn  ran  steadily 
through  the  shrubby  weedy  lawn  with  a  sigh 
that  had  in  it  the  very  essence  of  sadness. 

u  I  tell  you,  Luke,  I'm  not  trying  to  fool  you ; 
they've  gone  clean  to  South  America  to  stay 
.always,"  reiterated  Betsy. 

Luke  gazed  for  a  moment  steadily  into  his 
sister's  eyes,  as  if  looking  for  a  sign.  Slowly 
his  stalwart  body  and  muscular  limbs  relaxed 


HOIDEN.  101 

and  collapsed.  The  box  fell  to  the  floor  with 
a  crash,  where  it  burst,  letting  roll  out  great 
hoops  of  gold  and  starry  rings  and  pins— a 
gold  watch  and  chain,  a  beautiful  gold  pen 
and  pencil  case,  and  trinkets  and  gew-gaw 
things  almost  innumerable.  They  must  have 
cost  the  full  profits  of  his  business  trip. 

Luke  staggered  into  a  chair.  Betsy  just 
then  happened  to  think  of  the  letter  that  had 
been  left  for  her  brother.  This  she  fetched 
and  handed  to  him.  It  was  the  uote  of  busi- 
ness from  Mr.  Pearl.  There  was  a  postscript 
in  a  different  hand  : 

"  Good-bye,  Goosey ! 

Hoidy  Pearl? 

That  was  all.  Luke  is  more  morose  and 
petulant  than  he  used  to  be.  He  is  decaying 
about  apace  with  Rackenshack,  and  he  smokes 
constantly.  He  is  vastly  wealthy  and  un- 
married. 

Betsy  is  quiet  and  kind.  Up  stairs  in  her 
chest  is  hidden  the  mahogany  coffer  full  of 
golden  testimonials  of  her  brother's  days  of 
happiness  and  the  one  dark  hour  of  his  de- 
spair ! 

14* 


^he  Pedagogue. 


He  was  one  of  the  farmer  princes  of  Hoosier- 
dom,  a  man  of  more  than  average  education,  a 
fluent  talker  and  ready  with  a  story.  Know- 
ing that  1  was  looking  up  reminiscences  of 
Hoosier  life  and  specimens  of  Hoosier  charac- 
ter, he  volunteered  one  evening  to  give  me  the 
following,  vouching  for  the  truth  of  it.  Here 
it  is,  as  I  u  short-handed"  it  from  his  own  lips. 
I  omit  quotation  marks. 

The  study  of  one's  past  life  is  not  unlike  the 
study  of  geology.  If  the  presence  of  the  re- 
mains of  extinct  species  of  animals  and  vege- 
tables in  the  ancient  rocks  calls  up  in  one's 
mind  a  host  of  speculative  thoughts  touching 
the  progress  of  creation,  so,  as  we  cut  with 
the  pick  of  retrospection  through  the  strata 
of  bygone  days,  do  the  remains  of  departed 
things,  constantly  turning  up,  put  one  into  his 
studying  cap  to  puzzle  over  specimens  fully  as 
curious  and  interesting  in  their  way  as  the 
cephalaspis. 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  163 

The  first  stratum  of  my  intellectual  forma- 
tion contains  most  conspicuously  the  remains 
of  dog-eared  spelling  books,  a  score  or  more  of 
them  by  different  names,  among  which  the 
Elementary  of  Webster  is  the  best  preserved 
and  most  clearly  defined.  It  was  finding  an 
old,  yellow,  badly  thumbed  and  dirt  soiled 
copy  of  Webster's  spelling  book  in  the  bottom 
of  an  old  chest  of  odds  and  ends,  on  the  fly- 
leaf of  which  book  was  written  "  T.  Blodgett," 
that  lately  brightened  my  memory  of  the  things 
I  am  about  to  tell  you. 

The  old  time  pedagogue  is  a  thing  vof  the 
past— par*  temporis  acti  is  the  Latin  of  it,  may 
be,  but  I'm  not  sure— I'm  rusty  in  the  Latin 
now.  When  I  quit  school  I  could  read  it  a 
good  deal.  But  of  the  pedagogue.  The  twenty 
years  since  he  ceased  to  flourish  seem,  on  re- 
flection, like  an  age— an  won,  as  the  Greeks 
would  say.  I  never  did  know  much  Greek.  I 
got  most  of  my  education  from  pedagogues  of 
the  old  sort.  They  kept  pouring  it  on  to  me 
till  it  soaked  in.  That's  the  way  I  got  it.  I 
have  had  corns  and  bunions  on  my  back  for 
not  being  sufficiently  porous  to  absorb  the 
multiplication  table  rapidly  enough  to  suit  the 
whim  of  one  of  those  learned  tyrants.  But  the 
pedagogue  became  extinct  and  passed  into  the 


164  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

fossil  state  some  twenty  years  ago,  when  free 
schools  took  good  hold.  He  scampered  away 
when  he  heard  the  whistle  of  the  steam  engine 
along  iron  highways  and  the  cry  of  small  boys 
on  the  streets  of  the  towns  hawking  the  daily 
papers.  He  could  live  nowhere  within  the  pale 
of  innovation.  He  was  born  an  exemplar  of 
rigidity.  The  very  name  of  reform  was  hate- 
ful to  him.  We  older  fellows  remember  him 
well,  but  to  the  younger  fry  he  is  not  even  a 
fossil,  he  is  a  myth.  Of  course  pedagogues 
differed  slightly  in  the  matter  of  particular 
disposition  and  real  character,  but  in  a  general 
ivay  they  had  a  close  family  resemblance. 

I  purpose  to  write  of  one  Blodgett— T.  Blod- 
gett,  as  it  was  written  in  the  fly-leaf  of  Web- 
ster's Elementary — and  he  was  an  extraordi- 
nary specimen  of  the  genus  pedagogue.  But 
before  I  introduce  him,  let  me,  by  way  of  pre- 
face and  prelude,  give  you  a  view  of  the 
salients  of  the  history  of  the  days  when  pole- 
ribbed  school  houses— log  cabin  school  houses 
— flourished,  with  each  a  pedagogue  for  su- 
preme, "unquestioned  and  unquestionable" 
despot. 

In  those  fine  days  boys  from  five  to  fifteen 
years  of  age  wore  tow  linen  pants  held  up  by 
suspenders  (often  made  of  tow  strings),  and 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  165 

having  at  each  side  pockets  that  reached  down 
to  about  the  wearer's  knees.  These  pockets 
held  as  much  as  a  moderate  sized  bushel 
basket  will  now.  The  girls,  big  and  little, 
wore  mere  tow  linen  slips,  that  hung  loose 
from  the  shoulders.  Democracy,  pure  and  un- 
dented, flourished  like  a  green  buckeye  tree. 
Society  was  in  about  the  same  condition  as  a 
boy  is  when  his  voice  is  changing.  You  know 
when  a  boy's  voice  is  changing  if  you  hear 
him  in  another  room  getting  his  lesson  by  say- 
ing it  over  aloud,  you  think  there's  about  four- 
teen girls,  two  old  men,  and  a  dog  barking  in 
the  room.  Society  was  much  the  same.  The 
elements  of  everything  were  in  it,  but  not  de- 
veloped and  separated  yet.  Women  rode  be- 
hind their  husbands  on  the  same  horse,  occa- 
sional^ reaching  round  in  the  man's  lap  to 
feel  if  the  baby  was  properly  fixed.  Some- 
times the  girls  rode  to  singing  school  behind 
their  sweethearts.  At  such  times  the  horses 
always  kicked  up,  and,  of  course,  the  girls  had 
to  hold  on.  The  boys  liked  the  holding  on 
part.  Young  men  went  courting  always  on 
Saturday  night.  The  girls  wouldn't  suffer  any 
hugging  before  eleven  o'clock — unless  the  old 
folk  were  remarkably  early  to  bed.  Candles 
were  scarce  in  those  days,  so  that  billing  and 


16G  A  BOOK  OF  IIOOSIER   MOSAICS. 

cooing  was  done  by  very  dim  fire-light  0,  le 
bon  temps  I  I've  forgot  whether  that's  Latin 
or  French. 

The  pedagogue  was  the  intellectual  and 
moral  centre  of.  the  neighborhood.  He  was  of 
higher  authority,  even  in  the  law,  than  the 
Justice  of  the  Peace.  He  was  consulted  on 
all  subjects,  and,  as  a  rule,  his  decisions  were 
final,  and  went  upon  the  people's  record  as 
law.  His  jurisdiction  was  unlimited,  as  to  sub- 
ject matter  or  amount,  and,  as  to  the  person, 
was  unquestioned.  Of  course  his  territory 
was  bounded  by  the  circumstances  of  each 
particular  case. 

I  just  now  recollect  quite  a  number  of  peda- 
gogues who  in  turn  ruled  me  in  my  youthful 
days.  Of  one  of  them  I  never  think  without 
feeling  a  strange  sadness  steal  over  me.  He 
was  a  young  fellow  whom  to  know  was  to  love  j 
pale,  delicate,  tender-hearted.  He  taught  ns 
two  terms  and  we  all  thought  him  the  best 
teacher  ill  the  world.  He  was  so  kind  to  us, 
so  gentle  and  mild-voiced,  so  prone  to  pat  us 
ou  our  heads  and  encourage  us.  Some  of  the 
old  people  found  fault  with  him  because,  as 
they  alleged,  he  did  not  whip  us  enough,  but 
we  saw  no  force  in  the  objection.  Well,  he 
took  a  cough  and  began  to  fail.     He  dismissed 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  167 

us  one  fine  May  evening  and  we  saw  him  no 
more  alive.  We  all  followed  Jiim,  in  a  solemn 
line,  to  his  grave,  and  for  a  long  time  there- 
after we  never  spoke  of  him  except  in  a  low, 
sad  whisper.  As  for  me,  till  long  afterwards, 
the  hushed  wonder  of  his  white  face  haunted 
pay  dreams.  I  have  now  in  my  possession  a 
little  bead  money-parse  he  gave  me. 

Blodgett  came  next,  and  here  my  story 
properly  begins.  Blodgett— who,  having  once 
seen  him,  could  ever  forget  Blodgett  1  Not  I. 
He  was  too  marked  a  man  to  ever  wholly  fade 
from  memory.  He  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  per- 
fect type  of  his  kind,  and  his  kind  was  such  as 
should  not  be  sneered  at.  He  was  one  of  the 
humble  pioneers  of  American  letters,  ne  was 
a  character  of  which  our  national  history  must 
take  account.  He  was  one  of  the  vital  forces 
of  our  earlier  national  growth.  He  was  in 
love  with  learning.  He  considered  the  matter 
of  imparting  knowledge  a  mere  question  of 
effort,  in  which  the  physical  element  prepon- 
derated. If  he  couldn't  talk  or  read  it  into 
one  he  took  a  stick  and  mauled  it  into  him. 
This  mauling  method,  though  somewhat  dis- 
tasteful to  the  subject,  always  had  a  charming 
result— red  eyes,  a  few  blubbers  and  a  good 
lesson.    The  technical  name  of  this  method 


168         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

was  u  Warming  the  Jacket."  It  always  seemed 
to  me  that  the  peewee  birds  Bang  very  doleful- 
ly after  I  had  had  my  jacket  warmed.  I  recol- 
lect my  floggings  at  school  with  so  much 
aversion  that  I  do  think,  if  a  teacher  should 
whale  one  of  my  little  ruddy-faced  boys,  I'd 
spread  his  (the  teacher's)  nose  over  his  face 
as  thin  as  a  rabbit  skin !  I'd  run  both  his 
eyes  into  one  and  chew  his  ears  off  close  to  his 
head,  sir!  Forgive  my  earnestness,  but  I 
can't  stand  flogging  in  schools.    It's  brutal. 

From  the  first  day  that  Blodgett  came  cir- 
culating his  school  "  articles n  among  us,  we 
took  to  him  by  common  consent  as  a  wonder- 
fully learned  man.  I  think  his  strong,  wise 
looking  face,  and  reserved,  pompous  manners, 
had  much  to  do  with  making  this  impression. 
We  believed  in  him  fully,  and  for  a  long  time 
gave  him  unfaltering  loyalty.  As  for  me,  I 
never  have  wholly  withdrawn  my  allegiance. 
I  look  back,  even  now,  and  admire  him.  I 
sigh,  thinking  of  the  merry  days  when  he 
flourished.  I  solemnly  avow  my  faith  in  prog- 
ress. I  know  the  world  advances  every  day, 
still  I  doubt  if  men  and  women  are  more  wTortliy 
now  than  they  were  in  the  time  of  the  peda- 
gogues. I  don't  know  but  what,  after  all,  I 
am  somewhat  of  a  fogy .    Any  how,  I  will  not, 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  169 

for  the  sake  of  pleasing  your  literary  swallows 
— your  eclectics  of  to-day — turn  in  and  berate 
my  dear  old  Blodgett.  In  his  day  men  could 
not  and  did  not  skim  the  surface  of  things  like 
swallows  on  a  mill  pond.  They  dived,  and  got 
what  they  did  get  from  the  bottom,  and  by 
honest  labor.  Whenever  one  of  your  silk- 
winged  swallows  skims  past  me  and  whispers 
progress,  I  cannot  help  thinking  of  Heyne, 
Jean  Paul  and — Blodgett.  Somehow  genius 
and  poverty  are  great  cronies.  It  used  to  be 
more  so  than  it  is  now.  Blodgett  was  a 
genius,  and,  consequently,  poor.  He  was  vir- 
tuous, and,  of  course,  happy.  He  wras  a  Dem- 
ocrat and  a  Hard  Shell  Baptist,  and  he  might 
never  have  swerved  from  the  path  of  rectitude, 
even  to  the  exteut  of  a  hair's  breadth,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  coming  of  a  not  over  scrupu- 
lous rival  into  the  neighboring  village.  But  I 
must  not  hasten.  A  little  more  and  I  would 
have  blurted  out  the  whole  nub  of  my  story. 
Bear  with  me.  I  have  nothing  of  the  "  light- 
ning calculator  v  in  me.  I  must  take  my  time. 
It  has  been  agreed  that  biography  must 
include  somewhat  of  physical  portraiture. 
u  What  sort  of  looking  man  was  Blodgett?" 
1  will  tell  you  as  nearly  as  I  can,  but  bear  in 
mind  it  is  a  long  time  since  I  saw  him,  and,  in 
15 


170         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  3IOSAICS. 

the  meanwhile,  the  world  has  been  so  washed, 
and  combed,  and  trimmed,  and  pearl  pow- 
dered, that  one  can  scarcely  be  sure  he  recol- 
lects things  rightly.  The  seedy  dandy  who 
teaches  the  free  schools  of  to-day,  is,  no  doubt, 
all  right  as  things  go  5  but  then  the  way  they 
go — that's  it!  As  for  finding  some  one  of 
these  dapper,  umbrella-lugging,  green-spec- 
tacled, cadaverous  teachers  to  compare  with 
our  burly  Blodgett,  the  thing  is  preposterous. 

Our  pedagogue,  when  he  first  came  among 
us,  was,  as  nearly  as  I  can  judge,  about  forty, 
and  a  bachelor,  tall,  raw-boned,  lean-faced, 
and  muscular — a  man  of  many  words,  and  big 
ones,  but  not  over  prone  to  seek  audience  of 
the  world.  To  me,  a  boy  of  twelve,  he  ap- 
peared somewhat  awful,  especially  when  ply- 
ing the  beech  rod  for  the  benefit  of  a  future 
man,  and  I  do  still  think  that  something 
harder  than  mere  sternness  slept  or  woke  in 
and  around  the  lines  of  his  strong,  flat  jaws — 
that  something  sharper  than  acid  shrewdness 
lurked  in  his  light  gray  eyes,  and  that  surely 
a  more  powerful  expression  than  ordinary 
brute  obstinacy  lingered  about  his  firm  mouth 
and  smoothly  shaven  chiu. 

Blodgett  had  a  mighty  body  and  a  mighty 
will,  joined  with  a  self-appreciation  only  bound- 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  171 

ed  by  bis  power  to  generate  it.  Tins,  added 
to  tbe  deep  deference  with  which  be  was  ap- 
proached by  every  bod}',  made  him  not  a  little 
arrogant  and  despotic— though,  doubtless,  he 
was  less  so  than  most  men,  under  like  circum- 
stances, would  have  been.  His  years  sat 
lightly  on  him.  His  step  was  youthful  though 
slouching,  his  raven  hair  was  bright  and  wavy, 
his  skin  had  the  tinge  of  vigorous  health,  and 
in  truth  he  was  not  far  from  handsome.  His 
voice  was  nasal,  but  pleasantly  so. 

I  cannot  hope  to  give  you  more  than  a  faint 
idea  of  the  absolute  power  vested  in  Blodgett 
by  the  men,  women  and  children  of  the  school 
vicinage  j  suffice  it  to  say  that  his  view  was  a 
sine  qua  non  to  every  neighborhood  opinion, 
his  words  the  basis  of  neighborhood  action  in 
all  matters  of  public  interest.  If  he  pronounced 
the  parson's  last  sermon  a  failure,  at  once  the 
entire  church  agreed  in  condemning  it,  not 
only  as  a  failure  but  a  consummate  blunder. 
If  he  hinted  that  a  certain  new  comer  im- 
pressed him  unfavorably,  the  nincompoop  was 
summarily  kicked  out  of  society.  In  fact,  in 
tbe  pithy  phraseology  of  these  latter  days, 
u  it  was  dangerous  to  be  safe  "  about  where  he 
lived. 

Thus,  for  a  long  time,  Blodgett  ruled  with 


172         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

an  iron  band  his  little  world,  with  no  one  to 
dream  of  disputing  his  right  or  of  doubting  his 
capacity,  till  at  length  fate  let  fall  a  bit  of 
romance  into  the  strong  but  placid  stream  of 
his  life,  and  tinged  it  all  with  rose  color.  He 
wrote  some  poetry,  but  it  is  obsolete— that  is, 
it  is  not  now  in  existence.  Wbile  this  streak 
of  romance  lasted  he  looked,  for  all  the  world, 
like  a  gilt-edged  mathematical  problem  drawn 
on  rawhide. 

It  was  a  great  event  in  our  neighborhood 
when  Miss  Grace  Holland,  a  yellow-haired, 
blue-eyed,  very  handsome  and  well  educated 
young  lady  from  Louisville,  Kentucky,  came 
to  spend  the  summer  with  Parson  Holland,  our 
preacher,  and  the  young  woman's  uncle.  Ken- 
tucky girls  are  all  sweet.  My  wife  was  a  Ken- 
tucky girl.  All  the  young  men  fell  in  love 
with  Miss  Holland  right  away,  but  it  was  of 
no  use  to  them.  Blodgett,  in  the  language  of 
your  fast  youngsters,  "shied  his  castor  into 
the  ring,"  and  what  was  there  left  for  the 
others  but  to  stand  by  and  see  the  glory  of 
the  pedagogue  during  the  season  of  his  woo- 
ing? It  would  have  done  your  eyes  good  to 
see  the  pedagogue  "slick  himself  up"  each 
Saturday  evening  preparatory  to  visiting  the 
parson's.     He  went  into  the  details  of  the 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  173 

toilette  with  an  enthusiasm  worthy  a  better 
result.  Ordinarily  he  was  ostentatiously  pious 
and  grave,  but  now  his  nature  began  to  slip 
its  bark  and  disclose  an  inner  rind  of  real 
mirthfulness,  which  made  him  quite  pleasant 
company  for  Miss  Holland,  who,  though  a 
mere  girl,  was  sensible  and  old  enough  to  en- 
joy the  many  marked  peculiarities  of  the  peda- 
gogue. 

On  Blodgett's  side  it  was  love— just  the 
blindest,  craziest  kind  of  love,  at  first  sight. 
As  to  Miss  Holland,  I  cannot  say.  One  never 
can  precisely  say  as  to  a  woman ;  guessing  at 
a  woman's  feelings,  in  matters  of  love,  is  a 
little  like  wondering  which  makes  the  music,  a 
boy's  mouth  or  the  jewsharp — a  doubtful  affair. 

Great  events  never  come  singly.  When  it 
rains  it  pours.  If  you  have  seen  a  bear,  every 
stump  is  a  bear.  A  few  days  after  the  advent 
of  Miss  Holland  came  a  pop-eyed,  nervous, 
witty  little  fellow  with  a  hand  press,  and  start- 
ed a  weekly  paper  in  our  village.  A  news- 
paper in  town  !     It  was  startling. 

Blodgett  from  the  first  seemed  not  to  relish 
the  innovation,  but  public  sentiment  had  set 
in  too  strongly  in  its  favor  for  him  to  jeopardize 
his  reputation  by  any  serious  denunciations. 
A  real  live  paper  in  our  midst  was  no  small 
15» 


174         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

matter.     Everybody  subscribed,  and  so  did 
Blodgett. 

It  did,  formerly,  require  a  little  brains  to 
run  a  newspaper,  and  in  those  days  an  editor 
was  looked  upon  as  nearly  or  quite  as  learned 
and  intelligent  as  a  pedagogue;  but  everybody, 
however  ignorant  himself,  could  not  fail  to  see 
that  one  represented  progress,  the  other  con- 
servatism, and  formerly  most  persons  were 
Ultra-Conservatives.  This,  of  course,  gave 
the  pedagogue  a  considerable  advantage. 

Of  course  Blodgett  and  the  editor  soon  be- 
came acquainted.  The  latter,  a  dapper  Yankee, 
full  of  "  get-up-and-snap,"  and  alert  to  make 
way  for  his  paper,  measured  the  pedagogue  at 
a  glance,  seeing  at  once  that  a  big  bulk  of 
strong  sense  and  a  will  like  iron  were  en- 
wrapped in  the  stalwart  Hoosier's  brain.  One 
of  two  things  must  be  done.  Blodgett  must 
be  vanquished  or  his  influence  secured.  He 
must  be  prevailed  on  to  endorse  the  Star  (the 
new  paper),  or  the  Star  must  attack  and 
destroy  him  at  once. 

Meantime  the  pedagogue  grimly  waited  for 
an  opportunity  to  demolish  the  editor.  The 
big  Uoosier  had  no  thought  of  compromise  or 
currying  favor.  He  would  sacrifice  the  little 
sleek,  stuck-up,  big-headed,  pop-eyed,  Roman- 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  173 

nosed  Yankee  between  his  thumb  nails  as  he 
would  a  tiea.  Blodgett  was  a  predestinarian 
of  the  old  school,  and  was  firmly  imbedded  iu 
the  belief  that  from  all  eternity  it  had  been 
fore-ordained  that  he  was  to  attend  to  just 
such  fellows  as  the  editor. 

Still,  the  little  lady  from  Louisville  took  up 
so  much  of  his  time,  and  so  distracted  his 
mind,  that  no  well  laid  plan  of  attack  could  be 
matured  by  the  pedagogue.  But  when  nations 
wish  to  fight  it  is  easy  to  find  a  pretext  for 
war.  So  with  individuals.  So  with  the  editor 
and  Blodgett.  They  soon  came  to  open 
hostilities  and  raised  the  black  flag.  What  an 
uproar  it  did  make  in  the  county ! 

This  war  seemed  to  come  about  quite  natu- 
rally. It  had  its  beginning  in  a  debating 
society,  where  Blodgett  and  the  editor  were 
leading  antagonists.  The  question  debated 
was,  "  Which  has  done  more  for  the  cause  of 
human  liberty,  Napoleon  or  Wellington  V ' 

Two  village  men  and  two  countrymen  were 
the  jury  to  decide  which  side  offered  the  best 
argument.  The  jury  was  %ont  all  night  and 
finally  returned  a  split  verdict,  two  of  them 
standing  for  Blodgett  and  two  for  the  editor. 
Of  course  it  was  town  against  country — the 
villagers  for  the  editor,  the  country,  folk  for 
the  pedagogue. 


176  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

"Huzza  for  the  little  editor!"  cried  the 
town  people. 

"'Bah  for  Blodgett!"  bawled  the  lusty 
country  folk. 

The  matter  quickly  came  to  blows  at  certain 
parts  of  the  room.  Jim  Dowder  caught  Phil 
Gates  by  the  hair  and  snatched  him  over  two 
seats.  Sarah  Jane  Beaver  hit  Martha  Ann 
Bandall  in  the  mouth  with  a  reticule  full  of 
hazel  nuts.  Farmer  Heath  choked  store- 
keeper Jones  till  his  face  was  as  blue  as 
moderate-like  indigo.  Old  Mrs.  Baber  pulled 
off  Granny  Logan's  wig  and  threw  it  at  'Squire 
Hank.  But  Pete  Develin  wound  the  thing  up 
with  a  most  disgraceful  feat.  He  seized  a 
bucket  half  full  of  water  and  deliberately 
poured  it  right  on  top  of  the  editor's  head. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  trouble  and  fun. 
Some  lawsuits  grew  out  of  it  and  some  hard 
fisticuffs.  All  the  country-folk  sided  with 
Blodgett— the  towns-iblk  with  the  editor. 
The  Star  began  to  get  dim,  but  the  editor, 
shrewd  dog,  when  he  saw  how  things  were 
turning,  at  once  took  up  the  question  of1  Na- 
poleon vs.  Wellington  in  his  journal,  kindly 
and  condescendingly  offering  his  columns  to 
Blodgett  for  the  discussion. 

The  pedagogue  foolishly  accepted  the  chal- 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  177 

lenge,  and  thus  laid  the  stones  upon  which  he 
was  to  fall.  So  the  antagonists  sharpened 
their  goose  quills  and  went  at  it.  In  sporting 
circles  the  proverb  runs:  never  bet  on  a  man's 
own  trick.  Blodgett  ought  to  have  known 
better  than  to  go  to  the  editor's  own  ground 
to  fight. 

I  have  always  suspected  that  Miss  Holland 
did  much  to  shear  our  Samson  of  his  strength. 
She  certainly  did,  wittingly  or  unwittingly, 
occupy  too  much  of  his  time  and  thought. 
Poor  fellow !  he  would  have  given  his  life  for 
her.  He  often  looked  at  her,  with  his  head 
turned  a  little  one  side,  sadly,  thoughtfully, 
as  1  have  seen  a  terrier  look  at  a  rat  hole,  as 
though  he  half  expected  disappointment. 

The  battle  in  the  Star  began  in  very  earnest. 
It  was  a  harvest  for  the  shrewd  journalist. 
Everybody  took  the  Star  while  the  discussion 
was  going  on.  Everybody  took  sides,  every- 
body got  mad,  and  almost  everybody  fought 
more  or  less.  Even  Parson  Holland  and  the 
village  preacher  had  high  words  and  ceased 
to  recognize  each  other.  As  for  the  young 
lady  from  Louisville,  she  had  little  to  say 
about  the  discussion,  though  Blodgett  always 
read  to  her  each  one  of  his  articles  first  in  MS. 
and  then  in  the  Star  after  it  was  printed. 


178  A  BOOK   OF   HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

Well,  finally,  in  the  very  height  of  the  war 
of  words,  the  editor,  in  one  of  his  articles,  in- 
dulged in  Latin.  As  you  are  aware,  when  an 
editor  gets  right  down  to  pan-rock  Latin,  it's 
a  sure  sign  he's  after  somebody.  This  instance 
was  no  exception  to  the  general  rule.  He  was 
baiting  for  the  pedagogue.  The  pedagogue 
swallowed  hook  and  all. 

"  Nil  de  mortuis  nisi  bonum,"  said  the  editor, 
"  is  my  motto,  which  may  be  freely  translated: 
"If  you  can't  say  something  good  of  the  dead, 
keep  your  tarnal  mouth  shut  about  them  !" 

Blodgett  started  as  he  read  this,  and  for  a 
full  minute  thereafter  gazed  steadily  and  in- 
quiringly on  vacancy.  At  length  his  great 
bony  right  hand  opened  slowly,  then  quickly 
shut  like  a  vice. 

"I  have  himl  I  have  nim!"  he  muttered  in 
a  murderous  tone,  "I'll  crush  him  to  impal- 
pable dust!"  He  forthwith  went  for  a  small 
Latin  lexicon  and  began  busily  searching  its 
pages.  It  was  Saturday  evening,  and  so 
busily  did  he  labor  at  what  was  on  his  mind, 
he  came  near  forgetting  his  regular  weekly 
visit  to  Miss  Holland. 

He  did  not  forget  it,  however.  He  went; 
without  pointing  out  to  her  the  exact  spot  so 
vulnerable  to  his  logical  arrows,  he  told  her  in 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  179 

a  confidential  and  confident  way  that  bis  next 
letter  would  certainly  make  an  end  of  the 
editor.  He  told  her  that,  at  last,  he  had  the 
shallow  puppy  where  he  could  expose  him 
thoroughly.  Of  course  Miss  Holland  was 
curious  to  know  more,  but,  with  a  grim  smile, 
Blodgett  shook  his  head,  saying  that  to  insure 
utter  victory  he  must  keep  his  own  counsel. 

The  next  day,  though  the  Sabbath,  was 
spent  by  the  pedagogue  writing  his  crusher 
for  the  Star.  He  wrote  it  and  re-wrote  it, 
over  and  over  again.  He  almost  ruined  a 
Latin  grammar  and  the  afore-mentioned  lexi- 
con. He  worked  till  far  in  the  night,  revising 
and  elaborating.  His  gray  eyes  burned  like 
live  coals — his  jaws  were  set  for  victory. 

That  week  was  one  of  int3nse  excitement 
all  over  the  county,  for  somehow  it  had  come 
generally  to  be  understood  that  the  peda- 
gogue's forthcoming  essay  was  to  completely 
defeat  and  disgrace  the  editor.  Work,  for 
the  time,  was  mostly  suspended.  The  school 
children  did  about  as  they  pleased,  so  that 
tiny  were  careful  not  to  break  rudely  in  upon 
Blodgett's  meditations. 

On  the  day  of  its  issue  the  Star  was  in  great 
demand.  For  several  hours  the  office  was 
crowded  with  eager  subscribers,  hungry  for  a 


180  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

copy.  The  'Squire  and  two  constables  had 
some  trouble  to  keep  down  a  genuine  riot. 

The  following  is  an  exact  copy  of  Blodgett's 
great  essay: 

Mr.  Editor — Sir  :  This,  for  two  reasons,  is 
my  last  article  for  your  journal.  Firstly  :  My 
time  and  the  exigencies  of  my  profession  will 
not  permit  me  to  further  pursue  a  discussion 
which,  on  your  part,  has  degenerated  into  the 
merest  twaddle.  Secondly  :  It  only  needs,  at 
my  hands,  an  exposition  of  the  false  and  fraud- 
ulent claims  you  make  to  classical  attainments, 
to  entirely  annihilate  your  unsubstantial  and 
wholly  undeserved  popularity  in  this  commu- 
nity, and  to  send  you  back  to  peddling  your 
bass  wood  hams  and  maple  nutmegs.  In  order 
to  put  on  a  false  show  of  erudition,  you  lug 
into  your  last  article  a  familiar  Latin  sentence. 
Xow,  sir,  if  you  had  sensibly  foregone  any  at- 
tempt at  translation,  you  might,  possibly,  have 
made  some  one  think  you  knew  a  shade  more 
than  a  horse ;  but  u  whom  the  gods  would  de- 
stroy they  first  make  mad." 

You  say,  "De  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum  "  may  be 
freely  translated,  "  If  you  can't  say  something 
good  of  the  dead,  keep  your  tarnal  mouth  shut 
about  them P  Shades  of  Horace  and  Prax- 
iteles !   What  would  Pindar  or  0 sesar  say  %  B  ut 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  181 

I  will  not  jest  at  the  expense  of  sound  scholar- 
ship. In  conclusion,  I  simply  submit  the  fol- 
lowing literal  translation  of  the  Latin  sentence 
in  question :  uDe — of,  mortuis — the  dead,  nil— 
nothing,  nisi — but,  bonum — goods,"  so  that  the 
whole  quotation  may  be  rendered  as  follows — 
"  Nothing  (is  left)  of  the  dead  but  (their) 
goods."  This  is  strictly  according  to  the  dic- 
tionary. Here,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  this 
discussion  ends.  Your  ob't  serv't, 

T.  Blodgett. 

The  country  flared  into  flames  of  triumph. 
Blodgett's  friends  stormed  the  village  and 
"bully-ragged"  everybody  who  had  stood  out 
for  the  editor.  The  little  Yankee,  however, 
did  not  appear  in  the  least  disconcerted.  His 
clear,  blue,  pop  eyes  really  seemed  twinkling 
with  half  suppressed  joy.  Blodgett  put  a  copy 
of  the  Star  into  his  pocket  and  stalked  proudly, 
victoriously,  out  of  town. 

After  supper  he  dressed  himself  with  scru- 
pulous care  and  went  over  to  see  Miss  Holland. 
Rumor  said  they  were  engaged  to  be  married, 
and  I  believe  they  were. 

On  this  particular  evening  the  young  lady 

was    enchantingly   pretty,   dressed   in  white 

muslin   and  blue  ribbons,  her  bright  yellow 

hair  flowing  full    and   free  down  upon    her 

10 


182  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

plump  shoulders,  her  face  radiaut  with  health 
and  high  spirits.  She  met  the  pedagogue  at 
the  door  with  more  thau  usual  warmth  of 
welcome.  He  kissed  her  hand.  All  that  he 
said  to  her  that  evening  will  never  be  known. 
It  is  recorded,  however,  that,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished reading  his  essay  to  her,  she  got  up  and 
took  from  her  travelling  trunk  a  "Book  of 
Foreign  Phrases,"  and  examined  it  attentively 
for  a  time,  after  which  she  was  somewhat  un- 
easy and  reticent.  Blodgett  observed  this, 
but  he  was  too  dignified  to  ask  an  explanation. 

The  "  last  day"  of  Blodgett's  school  was  at 
hand.  The  "  exhibition "  came  off  on  Satur- 
day. Everybody  went  early.  The  pedagogue 
was  in  his  glory.  He  did  not  know  the  end 
was  so  near.  A  little  occurrence,  toward  even- 
ing, however,  seemed  to  foreshadow  it. 

Blodgett  called  upon  the  stage  a  bright 
eyed,  ruddy  faced  lad,  his  favorite  pupil,  to 
translate  Latin  phrases.  The  boy,  in  his  Sun- 
day best,  and  sleekly  combed,  came  forth  and 
bowed  to  the  audience,  his  eyes  luminous  with 
vivacity.  The  little  fellow  was  evidently  pre- 
cocious—a rapid  if  not  a  very  accurate  thinker 
—one  of  those  children  who  always  have  an 
answer  ready,  right  or  wrong. 

After  several   preliminary  questions,  very 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  183 

promptly  and  satisfactorily  disposed  of,  Blod- 
gett  said : 

"Xow,  sir,  translate  Momtrum  horrendum 
informe  ingenx? 
Qnick  as  lightning  the  child  replied : 
"  The  horrid  monster  informed  the  Indians  V 
Fury!  The  face  of  the  pedagogue  grew 
livid.  He  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  took 
the  boy  by  the  back  of  the  neck.  The  curtain 
fell,  but  the  audience  could  not  help  hearing 
what  a  flogging  the  boy  got.  It  was  terrible. 
Even  while  this  was  going  on  a  rumor  rip- 
pled round  the  outskirts  of  the  audience— for 
you  must  know  that  the  "exhibition  "  was  held 
under  a  bush  arbor  erected  in  front  of  the  school 
house  door— a  rumor,  I  say,  rippled  round 
the  outer  fringe  of  the  audience.  Some  one 
had  arrived  from  the  village  and  copies  of  the 
Star  were  being  freely  distributed.  Looks  of 
blank  amazement  flashed  into  people's  faces. 
The  name  of  the  editor  and  that  of  Prof.  W — , 
of  Wabash  College,  began  to  fly  in  sharp  whis- 
pers from  mouth  to  mouth.  The  crowd  reeled 
and  swayed.  Men  began  to  talk  aloud.  Finally 
everybody  got  on  his  feet  and  confusion  and 
hubbub  reigned  supreme.  The  exhibition  was 
broken  up.  Blodgett  came  out  of  the  school 
house  upon  the  stage  when  he  heard  the  noise. 


184  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

He  gazed  around.    Some  one  thrust  a  copy  of 
the  Star  into  his  hand. 

Poor  Blodgett!  We  may  all  fall.  The 
crowd  resolved  itself  into  an  indignation  meet- 
ing then  and  there,  at  which  the  following  ex- 
tract from  the  Star  was  read,  followed  by  reso- 
lutions dismissing  and  disgracing  Blodgett: 

"  The  following  letter  is  rich  reading  for 
those  who  have  so  long  sworn  by  T.  Blodgett. 
We  offer  no  comment : 

"Editor  of  the  Star — Dear  Sir  :  In  an- 
swer to  youF  letter  requesting  me  to  decide  be- 
tween yourself  and  Mr.  Blodgett  as  to  the 
correct  English  rendering  of  the  Latin  sen- 
tence "  Be  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum?  allow  me  to 
say  that  your  free  translation  is  a  good  one,  if 
not  very  literal  or  elegant.  As  to  Mr.  Blod- 
gett's,  if  the  man  is  sincere,  he  is  certainly 
crazy  or  wofully  illiterate ;  no  doubt  the  latter. 
u  Yery  respectfully, 

«W , 

u  prof,  Languages,  Wabash  College.71 

Blodgett  walked  away  from  the  school  house 
into  the  dusky  June  woods.  He  knew  that  it 
was  useless  to  contend  against  the  dictum  of  a 
college  professor.  His  friends  knew  so  too,  so 
they  turned  to  rend  him.  He  was  dethroned 
and  discrowned  forever.    He  was  boarding  at 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  185 

iny  father's  then,  and  I  can  never  forget  the 
haggard,  wistful  look  his  face  wore  when  he 
came  in  that  evening.  I  have  since  learned 
that  he  went  straight  from  the  scene  of  his 
disgrace  to  Miss  Holland,  whom  he  found  in- 
clined to  laugh  at  him.  The  next  week  he  col- 
lected what  was  due  him  and  left  for  parts  un- 
known. 

I  was  over  at  parson  Holland's,  playing  with 
his  boys. 

The  game  was  mumble  peg. 

I  had  been  rooting  a  peg  out  of  the  ground 
and  my  face  was  very  dirty.  We  were  under 
a  cherry  tree  by  a  private  hedge.  Presently 
Miss  Holland  came  out  and  began,  girl-like, 
to  pluck  and  eat  the  half  ripe  cherries.  The 
wind  rustled  her  white  dress  and  lifted  the 
gold  floss  of  her  wonderful  hair.  The  birds 
chattered  and  sang  all  round  us;  the  white 
clouds  lingered  overhead  like  puffs  of  steam 
vanishing  against  the  splendid  blue  of  the  sky. 
The  fragrance  of  leaf  and  fruit  and  bloom  was 
heavy  on  the  air.  The  girl  in  white,  the  quiet 
glory  of  the  day,  the  murmur  of  the  unsteady 
wind  stream  flowing  among  the  dark  leaves  of 
the  orchard  and  hedge,  the  charm  of  the  tem- 
perature, and  over  all,  the  delicious  sound  of 
running  water  from  the  brook  hard  by,  all 
16* 


186  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

harmonized,  and  in  a  tender  childish  mood  I 
quit  the  game  and  lolled  at  full  length  on  the 
ground,  watching  the  fascinating  face  of  the 
young  lady  as  she  drifted  about  the  pleasant 
places  of  the  orchard.  Suddenly  I  saw  her  fix 
her  eyes  in  a  surprised  way  in  a  certain  direc- 
tion. I  looked  to  see  what  had  startled  her, 
and  there,  half  leaning  over  the  hedge,  stood 
Blodgett. 

His  face  was  ghastly  in  its  pallor,  and  deep 
furrows  ran  down  his  jaws.  His  gray  eyes 
had  in  them  a  look  of  longing  blended  with 
a  sort  of  stern  despair.  It  was  only  for  a 
moment  that  his '  powerful  frame  toppled 
above  the  hedge,  but  he  is  indelibly  pictured 
in  ray  memory  just  as  he  then  appeared. 

;'  Good-bye,  Miss  Holland,  good-bye." 

How  dismally  hollow  his  voice  sounded! 
Ah !  it  was  pitiful.  I  neither  saw  nor  heard 
of  him  after  that.  Years  have  passed  since 
then.  Blodgett  is,  likely,  in  his  grave,  but  I 
never  think  of  him  without  a  sigh. 

Yesterday  I  was  in  the  old  neighborhood,  and, 
to  my  surprise,  learned  that  the  old  log  school 
house  was  still  standing.  So  I  set  out  alone 
to  visit  it.  I  found  it  rotten  and  shaky,  serv- 
ing as  a  sort  of  barn  in  which  a  farmer  stows 
his  oats,  straw  and  corn  fodder.     The  genius 


THE  PEDAGOGUE.  187 

of  learning  bas  long  since  flown  to  finer  quar- 
ters. The  great  old  chimney  had  been  torn 
down  or  had  fallen,  the  broad  boards  of  the 
roof,  held  on  by  weight  poles,  were  deeply  cov- 
ered with  moss  and  mould,  and  over  the  whole 
edifice  hung  a  gloom — a  mist  of  decay. 

I  leaned  upon  a  worm  fence  hard  by  and 
gazed  through  the  long  vacant  side  window, 
underneath  which  our  writing  shelf  used  to  be, 
sorrowfully  dallying  with  memory  5  not  alto- 
gether sorrowfully  either,  for  the  glad  faces  of 
children  that  used  to  romp  with  me  on  the  old 
play  ground  floated  across  my  memory,  clothed 
in  the  charming  haze  of  distance,  and  encircled 
by  the  halo  of  tetider  affections.  The  wind 
sang  as  of  old,  and  the  bird  songs  had  not 
chauged  a  jot.  Slowly  my  whole  being  crept 
back  to  the  past.  The  wonders  of  our  prog- 
ress were  all  forgotten.  And  then  from 
within  the  old  school  room  came  a  well  re- 
membered voice,  with  a  certain  nasal  twang, 
repeating  slowly  and  sternly  the  words: 

"  Arma  virumque  cano  ;"  then  there  came  a 
chime  of  silver  tones — u  School  is  out ! — School 
is  out !"  And  I  started,  to  find  that  I  was  all 
alone  by  the  rotting  but  blessed  old  throne 
and  palace  of  the  pedagogue. 


j|n{dylofthe}[od, 


It  was  as  pretty  a  country  cottage  as  is  to 
be  found,  even  now,  in  all  the  Wabash  Yalley, 
situated  on  a  prominent  bluff,  overlooking  the 
broad  stretches  of  bottom  land,  and  giving  a 
fine  view  of  tbe  wide  winding  river.  The  win- 
dows and  doors  of  this  cottage  were  draped  in 
vines,  among  which  the  morning  glory  and  the 
honeysuckle  were  the  most  luxuriant;  while 
on  each  side  of  the  gravelled  walk,  that  led 
from  the  front  portico  to  the  dooryard  gate, 
grew  clusters  of  pinks,  sweet-williams  and 
larkspurs.  The  house  was  painted  white,  and 
had  green  window  shutters — old  fashioned,  to 
be  sure,  but  cosy,  homelike  and  tasty  withal. 
Everything  pertaining  to  and  surrounding  the 
place  had  an  air  of  methodical  neatness,  that 
betokened  great  care  and  scrupulous  order  on 
the  part  of  the  inmates. 

About  the  hour  of  six  on  a  Monday  morn- 
ing, in  the  month  of  May,  a  fine,  hearty,  intel- 
ligent looking   lad    of  twelve  years  walked 


AN  IDYL  OP  THE  ROD.  189 

slowly  up  the  path  which  led  from  the  old 
orchard  to  the  house.  He  was  dressed  in 
loose  trowsers  of  bottle  green  jeans,  a  jacket 
of  the  same,  heavy  boots  and  a  well  worn  wool 
hat.  The  boy's  shoulders  stooped  a  little,  and 
a  slight  hump  discovered  itself  at  the  upper 
portion  of  his  back.  His  face  was  strikingly 
handsome,  being  fair,  bright,  healthful,  and 
marked  with  signs  of  great  precocity  of  intel- 
lect, albeit  it  wore  just  now  an  indescribable, 
faintly  visible  shade,  as  of  innocent  perplexity, 
or,  possibly,  grief.  His  mind  was  evideutly 
not  at  ease,  but  the  varying  shadows  that 
chased  each  other  across  the  mild  depths  of 
his  clear,  vivacious  eyes  would  have  stumped 
a  physiognomist.  Between  a  laugh  and  a  cry, 
but  more  like  a  cry;  between  defiance  and 
utter  shame,  but  more  like  the  latter  j  his 
cheeks  and  lips  took  on  every  shade  of  pallor 
and  of  flush.  Be  shrugged  his  shoulders  as 
he  moved  along,  and  cast  rapid  glances  in 
every  direction,  as  if  afraid  of  being  seen- 
"  Whippoo-tee,  tippoo-tee-tee-eP  sang  a  great 
cardinal  red  bird  in  the  apple  tree  over  his- 
head.  He  flung  a  stone  at  the  bird  with  terri- 
ble energy,  but  missed  it. 

The  mistress  of  the  cottage  was  at  this  time- 
in  the  kitchen  preparing  for  the  week's  washing,. 


190  A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

for  do  not  all  good  Hoosier  housewives  wash 
on  Monday  *?  She  was  a  middle  aged,  stoutly 
built,  healthy  matron,  sandy  haired,  slightly 
freckled,  blue  eyed  and  quick  in  her  move- 
ments. Usually  smiling  and  happy,  it  was 
painful  to  see  how  she  struggled  now  to  mas- 
ter the  emotions  of  great  grief  and  sadness 
that  constantly  arose  in  her  bosom,  like  spec- 
tres that  would  not  be  driven  away. 

A  bright  eyed,  golden  haired  lass  of  sixteen 
was  in  the  breakfast  room  washing  the  dishes 
and  singing  occasional  snatches  from  a  mourn- 
ful ditty.  It  was  sad,  indeed,  to  see  a  cloud  of 
sorrow  on  a  face  so  fresh  and  sweet. 

Mr.  Coulter,  the  head  of  the  family,  and 
owner  of  the  cottage  and  its  lands,  stood  near 
the  centre  of  the  sitting  room  with  his  hands 
crossed  behind  him,  gazing  fixedly  and  sadly 
on  the  picture  of  a  sweet  child  holding  a  white 
kitten  in  its  lap,  which  picture  hung  on  the 
wall  over  against  the  broad  fire-place.  A  look 
of  sorrow  betrayed  itself  even  in  the  dark, 
stern  visage  of  the  man.  He  drew  down  his 
shaggy  eyebrows  and  occasionally  pulled  his 
grizzled  moustache  into  his  mouth  and  chewed 
it  fiercely.  Evidently  he  was  chafing  under 
his  grief. 

The  cottage  windows  were  wide  open,  as  is 


AN   IDYL   OF  THE  ROD.  191 

the  western  custom  in  fine  weather,  and  the 
fragrance  of  spice  wood  and  sassafras  floated 
in  on  the  flood  tide  of  pleasant  air,  while  from 
the  big  old  locust  tree  down  by  the  fence  fell 
the  twittering  prelude  to  a  finch's  song.  A 
green  line  of  willows  and  a  thin,  pendulous 
stratum  of  fog  marked  the  way  of  the  river, 
plainly  visible  from  the  west  window,  and 
through  the  white  haze  flocks  of  teal  and 
wood  ducks  cut  swiftly  in  their  downward 
flight  to  the  water.  A  golden  flicker  sang  and 
hammered  on  the  gate-post  the  while  he  eyed 
a  sparrow-hawk  that  wheeled  and  screamed 
high  over  head.  The  dew  was  like  little  mir- 
rors in  the  grass. 

The  lad  entered  the  kitchen  and  said  to  his 
mother,  in  a  voice  full  of  tenderness,  though 
barely  audible : 

"  Mammy,  where's  pap  V9 

"  In  the  front  room,  Billy,"  replied  the  ma- 
tron solemnly,  quaveringly. 

Passing  into  the  breakfast  room,  Billy  looked 
at  his  sister  and  a  flash  of  sympathetic  sorrow 
played  back  and  forth  from  the  eyes  of  one  to 
those  of  the  other ;  then  he  went  straight  into 
the  sitting  room  and  handed  something  to  Mr. 
Coulter.  It  was  a  moment  of  silence  and  sus- 
pense.    Out  in  the  orchard  the  cherry  and 


192         A  BOOK  OF  HO  OSIER  MOSAICS. 

apple  blooms  were  falling  like  pink  and  white 
snow. 

The  man  looked  down  at  his  boy  sadly,  sor- 
rowfully, regretfully.  He  drew  his  face  into  a 
stern  frown.  The  lad  looked  up  into  his  father's 
eyes  timidly,  ruefully,  strangely.  It  was  a  liv- 
ing tableau  no  artist  could  reproduce.  It  was 
the  moment  before  a  crisis. 

"  Billy,"  said  the  father  gravely,  "  I  took  your 
mother  aud  sister  to  church  yesterday." 

u  Yes,  sir,"  said  Billy. 

"  And  left  you  to  see  to  things,"  continued 
the  man. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy,  gazing  through 
the  whidow  at  the  flicker  as  it  hitched  down 
the  gate-post  and  finally  dropped  into  the 
grass  with  a  shrill  chirp* 

"And  you  didn't  water  them  pigs!" 

"  O-o-o !  Oh,  sir !  Geeroody !  O  me !  ouch! 
lawsy !  lawsy !  mercy  me !" 

The  slender  scion  of  an  apple  tree,  in  the 
hand  of  Mr.  Coulter,  rose  and  fell,  cutting  the 
air  like  a  rapier,  and  up  from  the  jacket  of  the 
lad,  like  incense  from  an  altar,  rose  a  cloud  of 
dust  mingled  with  the  nap  of  jeans.  Down  in 
the  young  clover  of  the  meadow  the  larks  and 
sparrows  sang  cheerily  5  the  gnats  and  flies 
danced  up  and  down  in  the  sunshine,  the  fresh 


AN  IDYL  OF  THE  ROD.  193 

soft  young  leaves  of  the  vines  rustled  like 
satin,  and  all  was  merry  indeed  ! 

Billy's  eyes  were  turned  upward  to  the  face 
of  his  father  in  appealiug  agony;  but  still  the 
switch,  with  a  sharp  hiss,  cut  the  air,  falling 
steadily  and  mercilessly  on  his  shoulders. 

All  along  the  green  banks  of  the  river  the 
willows  shook  their  shining  fingers  at  the  lift- 
ing fog,  and  the  voices  of  children  going  by  to 
the  distant  school  smote  the  sweet  May  wind. 

"  Whippee !  Whippee-tippee-tee !"  sang  the 
cardinal  bird. 

"  O  pap !  ouch !  O-o-o !  Til  not  forget  to 
water  the  pigs  no  more  I"       • 

"  S'pect  you  won't,  neither !"  said  the  man. 

The  wind,  by  a  sudden  puff,  lifted  into  the 
room  a  shower  of  white  bloom  petals  from  a 
sweet  apple  tree,  letting  them  fall  gracefully 
upon  the  patchwork  carpet,  the  while  a  plough- 
man whistled  plaintively  in  a  distant  field. 

"Crackee!  Opap!  ouch!  O-o-o!  You're 
a  killin'  me !" 

"  Shet  your  mouth  'r  I'll  split  ye  to  the  back- 
bone in  a  second!  Show  ye  how  to  run  off 
fishin'  with  Ed  Jones  and  neglect  them  pigs  ! 
Take  every  striffin  of  hide  off  'n  ye  !" 

How  many  delightful  places  in  the  woods, 
how  many  cool  spots  beside  the  murmuring 
17 


194         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

river,  would  have  been  more  pleasant  to  Billy 
than  the  place  he  just  then  occupied !  He 
would  have  swapped  hides  with  the  very  pigs 
he  had  forgot  to  water. 

"  O,  land !  O,  me !  Geeroody  me !"  yelled 
the  lad. 

"  Them  poor  pigs  !"  rejoined  the  father. 

Still  the  dust  rose  and  danced  in  the  level 
jet  of  sunlight  that  fell  athwart  the  room  from 
the  east  window,  and  the  hens  out  at  the  barn 
cackled  and  sang  for  joy  over  new  laid  eggs 
stowed  away  in  cosy  places. 

At  one  time  during  the  falling  of  the  rod 
the  girl  quit  wasting  the  dishes,  and  thrusting 
her  head  into  the  kitchen  said,  in  a  subdued 
tone: 

"  My  land !  Mammy,  ain't  Bill  a  gittin'  an 
awful  one  this  load  o'  poles  VJ 

u  You're  moughty  right  JP  responded  the  ma- 
tron, solemnly. 

Along  toward  the  last  Mr.  Coulter  tip-toed 
at  every  stroke.  The  switch  actually  screamed 
through  the  air.  Billy  danced  and  bawled  and 
made  all  manner  of  serio-comic  faces  and  con- 
tortions. 

;<Now  go,  sir,"  cried  the  man,  finally  tossing 
the  frizzled  stump  of  the  switch  out  through 
the  window.  u  Go  now,  and  next  time  I'll  be 
bound  you  water  them  pigs  !" 


AN  IDYL  OP  THE  ROD.  195 

And,  while  the  finch  poured  a  cataract  of 
melody  from  the  locust  tree,  Billy  went. 

Poor  boy !  that  was  a  terrible  thrashing,  and 
to  make  it  worse,  it  had  been  promised  to  him 
on  the  evening-  before,  so  that  he  had  been 
dreading  it  and  shivering  over  it  all  night ! 

Now,  as  he  walked  through  the  breakfast 
room,  his  sister  looked  at  him  in  a  commisera- 
ting way,  but  on  passing  through  the  kitchen 
he  could  not  catch  the  eye  of  his  mother. 

Finally  he  stood  in  the  free  open  air  in  front 
of  the  saddle  closet.  It  was  just  then  that  a 
speckled  rooster  on  the  barn  yard  fence  flapped 
his  wings  and  crowed  lustily.  A  turkey  cock 
was  strutting  on  the  grass  by  the  old  cherry 
tree. 

Billy  opened  the  door  of  the  closet.  "  A 
boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will,  and  the  thoughts 
of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts."  Billy  peeped 
into  the  saddle  closet  and  then  cast  a  glance 
arouud  him,  as  if  to  see  if  any  one  was  near. 

At  length,  during  a  pleasant  lull  in  the 
morning  wind,  and  while  the  low,  tenderly 
mellow  flowing  of  the  river  was  distinctly  au- 
dible, and  the  song  of  the  finch  increased  in 
volume,  and  the  bleating  of  new  born  lambs  in 
the  meadow  died  in  fluttering  echoes  under 
the  baru,  and  while  the  fragrance  of  apple 


196         A  BOOK  OF  HOOSIER  MOSAICS. 

blooms  grew  fainter,  and  while  the  sun,  now 
flaming  j nst  a  little  above  the  eastern  horizon, 
launched  a  shower  of  yellow  splendors  over 
him  from  head  to  foot,  he  took  from  under  his 
jacket  behind  a  doubled  sheep  skin  with  the 
wool  on,  which,  with  an  ineffable  smile,  he 
tossed  into  the  closet.  Then,  as  the  yellow 
flicker  rose  rapidly  from  the  grass,  Billy 
walked  off,  whistling  the  air  of  that  once  pop- 
ular ballad — 

"  0  give  me  back  my  fifteen  cents, 
And  give  me  back  my  money,"  &c. 


//#f 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


Pue  end  c 


Kfcj  \  : 


~~ TTfrff 


Ktl'DLD  MAY  1071 -12  M    41 


^PR 13 1987 

■wto.wc.1"^  W 

GENERAL  LIBRARY  -  U.C.  BERKELEY 


BQDDfi^SOflli 


